Sipping a hot to-go cup of café con leche,
eating a cold chicken Alfredo bread bowl;
not much in the way of Sunday breakfast,
but has a strange way of uplifting my soul.
Sitting in silence contemplating morning,
dreaming of boats that’ll never be bought;
not working on books I should be writing,
but writing things that take little thought.
Watching day after day drift by distracted,
blaming inspiration for not sparking anew;
not so that I’ve lost my passion for writing,
just for now I’d rather get drunk and screw.
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