It’s strange this 
unknowing anything really 
I know where
I have been 
I think I 
know where I’m 
going but these
words have like 
children gone their 
own ways and 
never to return 
never to tell 
or even see 
a fraction of 
what and where
and when and
whom they have 
met and this 
now brings me 
the great discomfort 
of being just 
another empty nest 
remembering 

I’ll never know 
what it is 
about that first 
sip then kiss 
they both warm 
in different directions 
one going down 
one going out 
maybe one causes
the other one 
who really needs 
to know that 
when what I
do know now 
is that the 
one without other 
just isn’t morning 

It’s like this 
always like this 
my brain on
a stopped moving 
walkway there sleeping 
why my brain 
chooses a moving
anything I don’t 
know but once 
it starts again 
off my brain 
goes past ads
and people and
baggage until at
last it ends 
at the gate 
to Sleepy Time 

Some orgasm
I write 
with coffee 
to fall 
back asleep 
both things
I suppose 
are similar 
and familiar 
yet neither 
really help 
just makes 
things messy 
messing around 

I wake up 
talking awaken myself 
talking finishing things 
with whom don’t 
remember about what 
can’t say it’s 
as though I
have ideas that 
have no other 
way to be 
than this nonsense
of no good 
to neither I
nor the sandman