My Spot

Everything about this day set perfectly in place.
With coat and shoes still worn as I opened my stinging eyes, death metal drum beat like rattle in my head.
I muttered knowingly to myself "fuck, one of those days."
Now I sit at the beach parking lot of a dive made famous for their Coney dogs.
Same spot everyday next to the big rock overlooking The Long Island Sounds waters.

Todays breakfast brew was filled with an equal mix
of sadness and lonliness. You served your final
decision. Toxic and disturbed were the ingredients you listed. If you bothered to sip from my glass perhaps
buds of unforgiveness and bitter cold could be tested.
Daily that's what I'm served.

Words played all day today like ball and net. Except
unlike tennis, we kept serving. I wish I forced a hault before  we both left too much said.
Communications severed, you
eliminated all chanels.
Hope has no place in this junk writing.

I sit here in my parking spot.

just me
this note pad
my loneliness
and a bunch of words


No pen.