I wanted this poem to be lazing, blazing through
coffee shop days, barroom nights. I wanted this
poem to be bands, clubs, and the folks seen on
lonely weeknights, standing in the corner - eyes
on the stage. I wanted this poem to be small talk
with barkeeps, huge crushes on waitresses with
bangs and big eyes. I wanted this poem to be
sitting outside on a warm December day,
smoking a cheap cigar, drinking a cheaper can
of beer, empty streets all around, some dog
barking a block over. I wanted this poem to be a
candle burning at 2 a.m. while sprawled on the
floor with a half-full glass, pen, and notebook.

I wanted this poem to be a paragraph long. I
wanted this poem, I wanted it.

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