these things…

whiskey in a dirty glass…
copper-cups with coffee grounds in the bottom of them…
a metal mug to piss-in…
stacks of manuscripts never sent-off…missed opportunities at rejection…
a brown leather wallet broken-in…where’s the money honey…long gone…long gone…
powdered coffee-creamer…French Vanilla flavor…
three quarters of a jar of Maxwell House Instant…just add hot water…
posters for a poetry reading wound tightly with a rubber-band…
my name on a book…
a hanging purple towel drying on a rod…
tee-shirts with holes under the arms…
a box of matches from that night we had cigars and bottles of beer…or was it wine…
the broken spine of Mailer’s, An American Dream…
Ulysses read once…only once…
half a bottle of orange colored Ajax…
overdue bills…
torn red leather Bible…
a sweat-soaked pillow from nights of Indian Summer…
Cathedral, by Raymond Carver, checked-out from the library…don’t forget to renue…
memories of past love…
a Rosary given by brothers at Padre Pio in the Bronx…
an old set of keys…
silver chain…
your lipstick stain on a white napkin…dabbed in the car on one of our fantastic trips…
a white Gardenia with flowers in bloom…i’ll save you one to keep in your pocket…
dirty plates from the last supper…
looking ’round my room…looking ’round my room…
these things we hold on to…these things…

Published by: dmseay

The writing is based on my surroundings and what I've been surrounded by. This language is coarse and politically incorrect; which I make no apologies for. These characters are not nice and to use any other dialogue would be disingenuine. That being said, I choose to roll the dice. dm seay

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