Fuzzy radio. /
High desert cheese. Thoughts of you./
It’s the gouda stuff.

Starbucks.
Early morning rain.
Music too loud
Trolley passing.

I’ve been here before.
Sunshine.
Quiet jazz.
Trolley passing.

I had hopes.
Relationships.
Work.
A bright future.

I vowed
I would never return
to a place
where I was alone
with someone in bed.

For decades I lived that
pain.
Reaching out,
touching,
with no response.
No touch.
Pure loneliness.

I vowed
I would never return
to a place
where it was cold
and raining,
and dreary,
holding no hope.

I walked away
from that lonely bed.
I’ll carry that ache,
again,
for awhile,
but this time I remembered
more quickly,
and I’ll run.

Maybe later,
here,
again,
it will be sunny,
with the trolley passing,
and soft music playing.
I won’t be here.

It’s better to be alone,
face upward,
mouth open wide,
facing the rain,
forgetting the pain,
than to get derailed,
again,
by a scheduled trolley.

I reach and touch her. /
There’s no response. There won’t be./
I’ve done this before.

I suddenly have/
noone left to dream about. /
Alone’s kinda weird.

OR
noone left to sing about.

I lay in bed, nude./
She’s on the other side: Clothes/
bed, sheets and desires.