when you no longer exist,
in anyone's plans,
its you alone, in your decrepit hacienda,
rolling tobacco on obituary section of old
newspapers,
you are like a shadow, present
but never missed
mulling,
ruminating,
meditating,
you no longer dream
beyond your next tipple,
it's over for you
it was over a long time ago
The silence,
the borrowed silence,
as if we are tiptoeing
around each other,
one numb,
the other uncaring,
the haunting silence,
the silence of a machete,
and a shovel
I am alone,
an interloper
in a place I should call
home,
the stench that wafts
after me is failure,
I am an intruder,
stalking,
walking around unseen,
I am of little use,
sitting by boulders
in unseen corners,
trying to be invisible,
I am not welcome in
spaces where men have
opinions,
for I, an interloper,
has not more sense
than cow dung
an unreedeeming yawn,
today's promising dawn,
filtered into a bucket of
unfulfilling days
unearned fatigue settles
like dust
the head hauls unnecessarily heavy
thoughts
thoughts of yore,
dreams unlived
girls unkissed
abandoned stories
again, unearned fatigue rattles,
a warning,
tomorrow might begin
too early
too early,
always too tired too early
I have loved you in ways,
in ways devoid of common sense,
I've loved in the quiet desperation of
an addict,
I have loved you
in ways that asked nothing in return,
but all I gotten in return
is jeering silence,
as if my heart has no discernible rhythm
the ever overwhelmingly inviting
pop sound,
of beer being beheaded,
the taming sip, a slow
slide towards uninhibited night
unhibited pockets,
daring damsels swing their posterior
endowments
the deejay cranks up the volume,
