Some think that 
I’m a prisoner 
in my home 
because I choose 
to live alone 
and far away 
from the fray
known as others
but I am 
the only one 
who is ever 
really truly free
from the loneliness 
that we brings 

I’ve been through 
the wringer once 
twice maybe more 
for Christ’s sake 
I’m dry so 
dry in fact 
that my life 
is now a
permanent press what
to do now 
that I’m dry
as dirt and 
the only wrinkles 
to be found 
are on my
face admitting a
well lived life 

Sometimes I feel 
like a dirty
mop just pushing 
around the same 
old dirt from 
one room to 
another from one 
place to next
even a fresh
pail of water 
doesn’t really help 
so on I
go moving memories 
around hoping to 
find a corner 
in which they 
may actually stay 

A lover
I need 
to wipe 
away the
grime of
day to
slather me
with affection 
as though 
I was
a piece 
of bread 
and he 
the jam

Sometimes no matter 
how hard I
try nor how
often before I 
have I just 
can’t seem to 
find first gear
so I sit
here idling in 
neutral in my
driveway all gussied 
up with places 
to go knowing 
I’ll never get