Decisions

On the radio
intertwined guitars
go weaving; me,
half-asleep,
thinking of how I
could play this.

Deciding I can’t
and, swallowing
my overanxious pride,
tumble into becoming
fully unconscious
until morning.

I’m not much better
when I get up; stagger out
and put the radio on.
Sit down, drink coffee;
pretty much my whole morning
till I get up and try
to play — after I write,
of course. Always
after I write. Trying to recall
what had come last night
and failing…again.

Deciding I can’t, yet
again. I will try
at some point but again,
yet again,
not today.

Writing is
all I have left. It’s not
wonderful, barely
worth noticing; still,
I write and I write.

Deciding I’m
not worthy to hold a pen.
I toss it down.
Not worthy, so I will seize
my guitar; not worthy
of that either; I set it
back on its rack and then
I sit and sit some more

as the earth moves with me,
moves under me; as the sky
moves above me, with me;
as I move with them, through them
with a guitar unplayed, a pen
unused on the scarred table;
each of us unused
as we will be for the rest
of our days.

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