A Room

A solitary window, no door.
Sanded red oak floors filmed by saw dust.
A palpable solitude.

A hammock fitting two precariously.
A soft wool blanket with a slight itch.
Comfort minus complacency.

A luminous fireplace shinning like
Sunlight through tree boughs.
Assertive but gentle, the lover's touch.

A virgin desk, sympathetic as
An observer to the fruition of my failures.
A passive Panzo.

In such a place,
An easel and an empire,
Would I muse and write unfettered,
To rise of my own, a Camelot.

Iam, Chump

I work for big dollars;
Quartered in a nice office,
My self-respect is nickeled and dimed
so He can get in his two cents.

No matter how I add it up,
I work for the Man.
Which makes me just a well dressed chump
Stooging for his change.

Stringless

Fiends, they ask your full faith for their false fidelity.
Fine, I
Profess no fickle promises.
Pledging only a prodigious passion played purely to your pleasures.

Beginnings

I have always hated beginnings.
They cut like new formed teeth,
Breaking the comfort of the quotidian as I would

Rather muddle in the mundane mediocrity of my daily drudgery
Forging through footpaths with footholes formed for my feet.

But I have dreams.