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sitting here watching the second hand on the TIMEX go
around and
around...
this will hardly be a night to remember
sitting here searching for blackheads on the back of my neck
as other men enter the sheets with dolls of flame
I look into myself and find perfect emptiness.
I am out of cigarettes and don't even have a gun to point.
this writer's block is my only possession.
the second hand on the TIMEX still goes around and around...
I always wanted to be a writer
now I'm one who can't.
might as well go downstairs and watch late night tv with the wife
she'll ask me how it went
I'll wave a hand nonchalantly
settle down next to her
and watch the glass people fail
as I have failed.
I'm going to walk down the stairway now
what a sight:
an empty man being careful not to trip and bang his empty head.
and then