Dark Chocolate

Dark chocolate: view
of the stained bark-covered side
of the coffee table. High relief,
everything dark, dark. Stained
damn near black except for
spots here and there that shine

like I do: balded spots almost blonded
through, but still dark. Still light enough
someone might think otherwise
of the table that sits smack in the middle
of the sky-blue rug — but still
dark as the night. Still
cold as the ground.

I have no ambition for these songs
beyond being as they are:
portrait of a long, gone, strong man
possessed of a few small bright pieces
that give hope, tiny hope,
for a few minutes and then,
like dark chocolate, go away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T