I've been left alone with just my own company for

for comfort once again

yet I can't release myself from the 'me' I've

more than once before been

as I grasp for balance in my so unstable life

I trip over this instrument known more commonly as

the pen

which I've also upon many occasions labeled 'my wife'

I'm trapped within a heart that gallantly beats back

my last betrayed memory

I see the sharp shadows of my soul as a possible key

strong, confidant and as yet emotionally unbruised

a perfect witness to my not being myself so I ask that

my questionable conduct be quickly excused

if this idea has come to me riding on the tail of a joke

I'll hardly be amused

am I to forever be swamped in my own out look and

aging attitude

I can almost smell my lust's sweetly laced breath

and frankly the odor is quite crude

my watchful wit at the moment leaves me behind

in a writer's dust cloud of debate

a lot of self doubt along with moderate talent is

divvied out to those who take up the initiative to


(written Jan 25,1992 am)

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