I’m down
here
to see
if I can
write something
surrounded by
red walls
and
Micael Chadwick paintings
with various books
from philosophy
to poetry to
religion
listening to
the classical station
of which
I am a member
for the
amazing
yearly fee
of 90 dollars
and drinking
my preferred
black coffee
in a porcelain mug
and I keep thinking
of Tantalus
head above water
hands
out of reach of
fruits or leaves
hell is sleeping
all day with
nothing to write
the world
just
out of reach
the monkey sits
on a pile
of stones
and stares
at the open book
in his
hand
the platitudes of willful resemblance 
say something