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Sunrise, Portland Maine

Seeking a self contained universe,
A poet at his desk, be it
	opium resin
	a pencil
	and blank paper
Or a lampshadeless fluorescent	
The static glow of a high resolution monitor
And a keyboard stained from Winston ashes 
Falling between the keys

A poet at his desk
	drunk again spinning
	classical music spinning
	the closed eye anger
A poet at his desk better get used to it.


First of all thereís been nothing here
Portland Maine


Pyramids of beer cans
   glowing like millennial advertisements
Lots of solitary
and shadows and so forth

I donít want any of it.
And I havenít been around long enough to
	say I hate it all
But percentages 
      have been known to dictate


A poet at his desk
Telling himself one more time
the countdown has officially begun
and a new life is waking
but hitting the snooze
one more time


and one bottle of Scotch later
thanking myself
that I donít use my turn at the mic to bitch	

The sun still rises
  over the Holiday Inn
And all of a sudden Iíve got
    to exchange snide glares with

All the turnpike turns
And lane changes
that bring me south to the city 
again perch me on top of crumbled stone
and gutted apartments,
my eyes peering over TV antennas into the bay,
hinting at their confidence
in brilliance spewed off party balconies
echoing off of empty beer cans
dolled out to the chosen few
who know the price of what they want


A poet at his desk knows
Depression is the result of being unprepared
A poet at his desk
	writing again
tells himself one more time
that resolution is just a plot twist
sought by the disinterested

the closed eye anger
See what he does with it
Now that heís gotten it back

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