it all amounts to nothing in the end

when we were young
we talked, naively
about being older
because that’s
all we wanted

when we were older
we talked, longingly
about being young
because that’s
all we wanted

when we’re
dead
will we talk, knowingly
about being alive?

or will we finally
be content
with where we are?

(D. James)

why a poet writes so many poems

to write something
of import

just once

a line
truer
than the truth

that makes
someone
think twice
pierces
their heart

it may be
in me yet
have to keep
searching
keep writing

to find that phrase
that stops the world
from spinning
if only for a moment

(D. James)

this is why I’m alone

spent the night
on the surface
of sleep

worrying about
my own
self interest

come the morning
hungry, ornery
horny, and angry

there was
nothing to do
but fight

maybe I’m not
cut out
for this
relationship thing

(D. James)