awake…

unfinished novels…
first drafts…
Ulysses…
A Portrait of the Artist As a Young Man…
half cans of coffee…
no cream in the place…
old bifocals an ex-girlfriend hated…
Jean Baudrillard’s, AMERICA…
hanging sweatshirts…
jazz on WBGO…
she hated jazz…
never met a broad that liked jazz…
blinds closed…birds singing…
a biography on Mailer…what a show-off…
red leather-bound Holy Bible…
porn in a drawer…
Brothers Karamazov runs through my head…

and she is asleep now…
a half a world away…she slumbers…a day time catnap…
while here it is midnight and shut-eye escapes me…this nocturnal night…this nocturnal night…
the lady complains of her husband never making love to her…an unfulfilled life…lusting for more…
as i sit making lists…sit making lists…

Don Quixote…i’ve chased windmills…
piggy-banks and cold medicine…
QTips…
Welbutrin…
a can of Murray’s…
paths of poetry scribbled on notebooks…
flattened bristles on a toothbrush…
an 89 cent roll of garbage bags…
bottle of Tylenol…

what do you want my lady…for it was never my love…only imaginary traits of passion…nothing was ever real…
go back to India…
fall into your falsehoods of grandeur…of comfort…money…you were always scared…so scared to take the risk…
the risk of love…

book of poems by Bukowski…
keychains…
quarter roll of toilet paper…
dimes and pennies…dimes and pennies…
a dusty coffee-pot…
copper mugs she gave me…
3/4’s of a bottle of vodka gone…gone…
an empty wallet…

i will no longer search for you…can no-longer seek you out…our love was a dream…

how terrible to be awake…

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