sunday, april 25

i'm 29 years old
and i still can't walk into my bedroom
without scattering a pile of dirty clothes
or knocking over a stack of books

tonight i almost crushed a typewriter,
the closet door won't quite close,
this mattress on the floor, i think i got
just before reagan left office
the chair has laundry on it -
clean or not i can't remember

postcards on the wall,
pictures in envelopes
one girl i lost, another
i should have been
smart enough to chase

if i had a woman, i'd keep the floor clean
and most days walk from the door to my bed
without stumbling over anything at all

but would i still get stoned
and fall asleep in my clothes,
or fill pages with this endless
chickenscratch apologetic?

life is hard
but i ain't bitter
there are so many consolations.