Here’s some poetry I wrote in a notebook that I just found. Must have wrote it back in 2005. (Hey, it’s the Internet. The Internet was made for poetry.)
You’re nothing but a parking lot poet,
yelling at empty spaces.
A blue-light special romantic.
Thinking every special is just for you.
The time of year when all is frozen.
When the 21st century fireplace
flickers through the window.
This is my time of year.
When the only warmth is contained in
When your breath falls out of your mouth.
I love nighttime in the winter.
See the little dots of existence
late at night.
A single light signaling the life of another.
The steam of coffee.
The crinkle of leaves.