left of the district

i sure do have a funny way
of showing women i’m interested
ignoring them and such
un-kissing their willing lips
and other tactics of warfare;
a sabotage expert am i.

my boldness lies within my words
in theoretical perfection
never willing to put them to use
rejection not a fear, but a mandate
as my next greatest chance
begins its short fuse
and i prepare for the shrapnel
destined to leave yet another
chink in my armor.

My apartment’s a prison
Four walls and a bed
Unhealthy amount of free time
Alone.
Enclosed in modern jazz
and beatnik lyric
there must be more to life
they say.

but what that is
eludes me consecutively
weeks now are months
of mundane.

where are these people
that don’t fear this aloneness
want someone to talk to
maybe even love.
where are the dreamers
to quote john: “i’m not the only one.”
maybe what i need is the opposite
to wake me up.

even my writing lacks focus
scratched and convex
a blemish not repaired easily
as i search for the voice
that once fueled inspiration.
created monsters
with competing words
and broken hearts.
but it is decrepit
muted by the business
drowned in the bottle
surfaced in the tears.
words escape
even the best of us

at times.

again you grace my presence so
inviting, warm.
as i sit like
a deer in head-

lights trying to interpret what
really is there.
you sit in an
anguish; ache and

pain, not only physically, but
also mentally?
as i fumble
once again; scared.