So many seats unfilled here in this midday coffeeshop.  Where is anybody who could ever matter that might sit in that chair?  Yet Xanga is ever replenished with new postings…seats that are never empty: how picturesque….

Mind wanders...where are friends and what's a lover?....

Never, oh, never…*thought breaks*... as I contemplate the floor-tossed shrouds of impersonal betrayal—et tu Giovanna?…*thought breaks*... what if I were to become a cyber vampire…and the internet the correlate expression of my longevity?  Years upon years pass and never a variance: to remain and persist so agelessly far beyond the trace of memories discarded and forgotten.

Eliot and Cummings mix in my thoughts: Women come and women go, come and go, talking of Michelangelo.   And all in green goes my love riding on a great horse of gold into the silver dawn….

I imagine a workout to release my frustrations: I punch at the punching bag…once…twice…in rapid succession…then back off with a sidekick, and in a finishing move, roundhouse the bag with the left side of my right foot.  The pain is mine but so is the rehearsed victory.  

These little mind games get me no where. I must sink yet deeper into this desperate night tonight awaiting before I emerge renewed in the morning which is spring.  I will face my desolation.  Intrepidly. And then return.