Poem For Jessica

Raymond Carver never had a problem
making weight, nor did Buk,
Williams never left his day job, nor did Womack,
and Phil had to write to eat,
but when Hemingway got fat
his writing did too; Salinger stayed
thin but he stopped living, he hid in his study
with the ghosts of dead characters and Hindu mysticism

there is no secret, no craft, only action.

it's 1 in the morning and I'm curled up
in an old chair that I salvaged from the
flames of a burning marriage, it may not
be here much longer, nor I if
Monitor Investments LLC has their way,
and I write this on a phone that may not work
next week at the will of the
American Telephone and Telegraph Company, I'm almost 40 years old
and with the exception of a nearly 6 year old
boy who doesn't know any better yet
everything I ever had is gone, it's
late at night and I'm alone.

and I don't know if this is going to turn
out to be any good or not, but I do know this:

it has no chance of being anything unless I'm
honest enough to admit that everything
I lost went away because I wasn't good enough to keep it.