Monday, May 09, 2011

The morning walk
to the bookstore
is always nice. I

enjoy my coworkers.
I write when I'm
not working, and when

I'm not doing that,
I play in a band
with my friends.

I'm the type of
writer who spells
it "cigarets".

I smoke a pipe
for the sweet
smoky taste.

I pound it against
my shoe, like they
do in the movies

those experienced
men with their
Oxfords and suits.

My flat is white
and green. I wake
up to a face

belonging to a girl
I love. It's scary
how much I love

her. She reads my
words and hears
me when I talk.

Sundays, I spend
all day with friends
that live a walk

away. We eat and
drink and talk even
though we saw each

other just yesterday.
The girl gets along
with all of them

and they all love
her. But not as
much as I do.

I sleep every night
without tossing
or turning. In a

perfect world,
I don't have a
perfect world.

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