5:16 A.M.

 
A lonely car cruises down the dark street outside
my window, as the empty coffee cup laughs at me
from the abyss. The reverb in the headphones is
cranked up, so I can barely hear the keys tap. I
am the son and the heir Of a shyness that is
criminally vulgar, croons Morrissey.

Time to make the most of the early a.m. without
seeing well-meaning people clogging up the
sidewalks. I am not antisocial, more asocial
(there is a difference.) Crowds work my nerves, and
a twitch crawls up my spine when the coffeehouse is
more than half full. How does it feel To treat me
like you do, cries New Order.

Who knows what my internal organs are plotting or
doing? (Colliding like irresponsible drunk
drivers; tying each other up in knots.) Seize the
day? Today could be the last day. I have to make
it count. Slave to the power of Death, belts Iron
Maiden.

The fresh mint dental floss on my desk promises
Extra Comfort, but I would settle for more darkness
before the glaring SoCal sunlight and monotonous
blue sky invade my inner sanctum. I would give
anything for some New England grey and a widow’s
walk — Oh, no! Cursed daybreak unfolds! — Now I
must finish this vampire paean to dark solitude.
The sky is thankfully foggy, which, at least, is a
step in the right direction. Bela Lugosi’s dead
Undead, undead, undead, drones Bauhaus.



PLEA

 
Stick figures with crooked leers bully the boardwalk,
trampling sandcastles made by faceless unfortunates

swept away by the tides of implacable change. The
TV is an oozing neurosis box on which

commercials abound about dental implants, home
invasions, panaceas with wretched side effects,

and candy-coated pills encapsulating bite-sized
fears. Somebody stamp my transcendental passport

and give me a leg up and a way out. Watch me
leap over socially reinforced quicksand,

lash together a driftwood raft, and paddle until
I land upon the other rarely reached, distant shore.