Once In A While

My writing desk is filled with computer parts, a monitor, a printer, cigarette butts, an ash tray, an old cleanex tissue, coffee cups, beer cans, a couple of cats and three dogs on the floor where some books by Steven King and some geeky guy are strewn here and there near lots of Rock-N-Roll music and loads of software and card board boxes filled with a myriad of things, like a picture of Stonewall Jackson, and a few old Journal’s full of poems where I wished that I had ended up different, or at least that I had ended up rich, or at least that I was published, or at least that I had cleaned my desk off once in a while.