I don’t really want to go home just yet – but I do enjoy the walk - every slow walk home, every evening after work, is another miserable little piece of poetry that I’ll never write down – I’ll just think about it, and think myself into believing that it’s enough – it’s enough to think about it – to feel good about the simple miseries of everyday people, everyday – buying milk – wiping their noses on the trains and trams and buses – staring at feet as if they’re not there – I juggle the promise of beer, and battle the pros and cons of buying and drinking a six-pack when I get home – I tell myself it’ll inspire me, and I’ll be able to write down all those miserable little pieces of poetry – little pieces of poetry for no one, for no man, woman or child – just for me to forget, and read again in a few months time, after a couple of beers – to feel good about – and to feel that perhaps this small existence hides some meaning to it after all – it never works out that way, not really – not as I imagine it, as I'm walking down the back alley ways, over the empty minuture bottles of gin and or whiskey, struggling to keep my feet on the awkward blue stone bricks below – another urban sunset finds sadness in this isolated alley – I don’t even drink gin, or whiskey – but I'm guessing at least one or two of my neighbours do – I think about if I’ll ever stop pretending to be a working class, down and out everyday man – or that perhaps before I know it, I’ll simply become that man – become that person for real – much like the man I was – the young man I was – and the boy – I’ve always felt in control of who I am, what I do, and where I am within this place – the trouble is, that control has voluntarily taken me to the threshold of sanity, depression, alcoholism – and the truth is I’m quite happy – happier than most people I know, think and feel – and they never leave me alone – well, that may not be all true - when they do, I don’t even notice it, and I’m confident thats the one thing I really take for granted – my time alone – everything else I can appreciate to bone and soul – to trembles and tears – people can often cry laughing, tears of happiness – I have the complete opposite – my sad laughter – my defeated sighs - every friendship of mine is tainted with the knowledge that they will never – never – understand how much I appreciate, love and admire them and the small things they do – what can I do when faced with that, daily? – when mind and voice are so strongly connected, the soul is left to deal with everything in between – something’s will never be said, never understood –and then we all go and die someday – every one of us – everyone of us will someday be lifeliess and gone – and with this being true, and the constant heart-felt appreciation for all things and everyone – no one can blame anyone for being comfortably sad – comfortably miserable – especially when they arrive home
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