during my worst times
        on the park benches
        in the jails
        or living with
        whores
        I always had this certain
        contentment-
        I wouldn't call it
        happiness-
        it was more of an inner
        balance
        that settled for
        whatever was occuring
        and it helped in the
        factories
        and when relationships
        went wrong
        with the
        girls.

        it helped
        through the
        wars and the
        hangovers
        the backalley fights
        the
        hospitals.

        to awaken in a cheap room
        in a strange city and
        pull up the shade-
        this was the craziest kind of
        contentment
 
        and to walk across the floor
        to an old dresser with a
        cracked mirror-
        see myself, ugly,
        grinning at it all.

        what matters most is
        how well you
        walk through the
        fire.
 
 
 
 

I had a dream last night...