music inspires me to write
badly, after the tingle of coffee leaves my tongue
the rough fatherly voice of a tom waits song
changes the rhythm of a tired heart beat

and i write with force from toe to pinky
as a drunk camper should chop at a tree
letting his unfinished work soak in his pee
to the passing of tangentially relevant rays of sunlight

she will email me with a request
and i will put that request in my to-do folder
when all i want is to once again hold her
feeling the way i felt when we met

and if i ever have trouble sleeping
i'll stand in the poetry section of the library for five minutes
to the turning of tangentially relevant dreams into regrets
collapsing into the chair of a group study room

we would turn off the lights and resume
having sex under the table, with my hand over her lips
hoping that no loud moan slips
and forces us to go back to writing, fighting, cheating, waiting to be dead