Somewhere in a dark
and unnamed forest
in Japan,
I am sitting Indian style,
smoking a cigarette
and thinking of beautiful women
abusing drugs and
telling me I'm the greatest
thing they've ever known.

The powerful moonlight
creates a vague beam
through my window
as the surrounding inside darkness fills my
mind with a simarly undefined terror,
not out of primitive fear
but out of a cold
and familiar comparison
to the nights of a past
that screams with
transparency at the bitter concreteness
of my present.

And I stand up,
and walk to the door,
and step outside.

The woods are mysterious
and ancient
like feelings
of vanished years,
yet still not satisfying
whatever it is inside of me
that desires
something more.

And I begin to desire the company
of the beautiful women
dancing in my head
like ghosts of lust.

An amateur poet
with nothing to do.