not about jack or diane

the warmth, and the quiet, and the wine,
the beautiful lady and the lights
of the christmas tree all served to
bring about the mood that hastened
the words and the feelings
that pushed one to think and then
to read and then to write as
such is the nature of the business.

we learn more about ourselves
(particularly our knees) when
we run in the cold of this
december afternoon chasing
demons, singing songs, attempting
to wage war against time
and, of course, the bottle
in that never ending dance
where we are desirous of
it all but too comfortable
to really get out there
and do something about it.

so we figure what the hell? and
hope it doesn’t kill us, this pursuit
of the things we feel inside, these
delusions of grandeur, what hath
God wraught when he made us?

and what have we done to ourselves
in the meantime?