You wake up dead beside yourself
in another hotel
I’m used to the flavor of discontent
backyards carve into boredom sandwiches
a love that never comes back.
a doorway to step through
on your way to someone else
sleep walk through catch phrases
I’m back on the road to me.
I will write you down
disrobing the pastrami
your voice goes velvet quiet –ripples out of blue
winds up drunk to evade the dawn
polishes the furniture of conversation
wired for bluish smoke.
money limps from wallet to counter
I occur at random
my guitar full of pluck
you refrigerated –there on the shelf
when the light comes on.
you are a private town
noisy –loosely organized
Love chain tighter than a daisy’s
my room bubbles up in a flood
in a wind that doesn’t care.
Jude Dillon, is a poet in waiting. Waiting for women, publishers, morning coffee.The sun came up the temperature fell and the poems spill out. Where can we find them? Rattle the bucket, fish or cut bait. The world is waiting too. He lives in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. Jude's website is