maybe i should take up smoking
"it's a five minute friend,"
he said--

i nodded off

or maybe i should have never have left--
or never came back or

maybe i should take a bottle of vodka
and drive to 151st street west--

everything so quaint and distant
and disillusioned... haggard desert
in serene mountains encompass

and walk the same trail where
i, the sentimentalist, resented myself for

breaking up with Micah Alyse Maria Conchita Pastrana,
never wanting to hurt anyone,
ever--everything was young
and gentle and vieled

home is where the heart is and
the heart is the lure for the holy moment which
have no intentions to stay so

everything is empty, yes,
if only to be full, yet,
goddamn the comedowns--yes!,
goddamn the comedowns where

there is no home, no--
only brochures to heaven
only what-if torments on
sordid trips back home

waiting for veils to return--
just waiting to be full, full,
full.