In the beginning there was coffee,

Just Coffee.

Rechter’s Cafe.

Music. Hotel California.

Coming to my senses.

Leaving my senses behind.

Leaving them to you.

It’s a tunnel.

Then there were words.

Words that meant a little more each time,

then meant nothing at all.

Then there were books.

Mountains of stories.


Meaningless talk about nothing in particular.

It’s a mystery I’m supposed to solve.

I can’t.

Library; I’m passing out.

Why did I consent?

When, in the End,

I knew there would be nothing.

Wasted Love.


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