exit wrong floor

And

just

like that,

the

inspiration

was gone.

days went on

for weeks,

months passed,

years disappeared;

he died in his sleep

dreaming about her.

he should’ve said

something on

that elevator

instead of watching

her get off on a

different level.

doors closed.

the doors closed,

but never the memory.

-JDR-

company folk and the 2%ers

how am i supposed to find company

at a company full of company people?

i’m convinced that my two percent

rule doesn’t apply in this environment.

 

the two percent rule essentially

states that ninety-eight percent

of you

are goddamn worthless.

 

the CEO walks by; awkward stare.

in the elevator with the Chairman;

awkward silence.

in the bathroom with the President;

awkward glance over.

 

…time to head back to my “desk”

 

i’m gonna ingest these laced brownies,

sit at my cubicle, stare at my computer,

and watch my screen saver bounce around;

that’s what I call

a good day’s work.

-JDR-

the advice column #1

my advice to you fellas:

don’t stop tasting her

until she begs you

to stop:

either you’re really

good and you’ve

pleased her so much

she needs you to stop,

or,

you need practice.

my advice to women:

make sure you tell

him which one it is.

-JDR-

a distinct smell and vague memories

waking up to

lipstick stains

on my sheets

(and other places),

i don’t notice

the aroma of

cheap wine

and

smoked substances

that are

soaked in the walls

and air conditioner filter

until my return

from an unsuccessful

trip for fresh water;

where’d you go?

were you even here?

traces of your presence

are outlined in my bed,

which i slowly

retrace with my fingertips.

scant memories begin

to reveal themselves:

veins pulsating in your

exposed neck –

head tilted back –

bottom of your

chin to the ceiling,

eyes rolled back in your head,

both your hands on the

back of my head

gripping the

suffocating product

in my hair,

contributing to the

uncontrollable shaking

between your thighs,

blood rushing to

all the zones

where blood doesn’t

even flow (adding some

color to your light skin

and new words to your

first, second,

spoken, and

unspoken languages).

yeah, i’m pretty sure

you were here;

question is:

why aren’t you here right now?

perhaps drinking another

bottle of cheap wine

and smoking a packed pipe

will enlighten me;

besides,

what else do I have to do,

except continue,

to think

about

you.

-JDR-