this time...

this time they'll make it...

for i have stood here before
alone-----naked-----womanless
i've turned to them to console me in the past
then, the loneliness dies...
i forget.
i neglect.
i put a dull selfish blade to the spleen of the innocent and turn
slow.
no water.
no light.
no music, no love.
the room becomes a desert
even the cacti cannot survive
the blood pours from their bodies
down the bookcase
over my record shelves
across the hardwoods and out under my bedroom door

but, this time they'll make it...

for here i stand
alone----drunk----womanless
water can in hand
wine bottle in head
piranhas in my guts
this time i've my copy of how to grow house plants
sunset books- copyright 1974
this time i've an east facing window
a south facing window
time
a typewriter
a case of cheap wine
records
paintbrushes
water.
light.
love.

this time they'll make it...