At Least I Still Have Each Other

Some kind of MPD, the writing life

You spend one day a working shclub

The next a lone creative genius in a quiet room

Or a hack, whatever

It’s like I go to sleep

And there’s another guy who takes over

Works the hours where I don’t have to think

And I realize

That’s how most people live

Half-asleep

I have numbness from behind the eyes

From sleeping too much contemplating this

And there’s still three months before I can solely write again

But most people never have that opportunity

I find myself staying awake three hours extra a night

Staring at the ceiling and dreaming comic book fantasies

Naked women and arbitrary plots

Dreaming the middle class dreams, actually

It’s where we meet, he and I

“This is our selves, under pressure...”that’s the line

And “All your life is channel thirteen...”

There’s dust on everything

On the keyboard

On the pants

In the food

Under the computer and on the floor

I’ll get through it

One more chunk from the soul

And that’s how they do it