The desk,
an old unused door
supported by
two short file cabinets.
pencils, pens scattered.
two coffee cups,
each containing
a single 
remaining swallow
an open notebook
used only to organize
disheveled thoughts.
raw light 
from a new gooseneck lamp
bent to shield
all but a faint glow.
a dover-thrift edition,
Walt Whitman
$1.00 U.S.
$1.50 Canada.
inspiration 
floating through the bay window
from an overcast sky.
butterfly kisses 
from low volumed speakers.
The hum of technology
and glare from a vision,
a portal to the world.
the heart of civilization, 
my finger on its pulse.
still I'm unable to
detect life, 
only ambition,
those bubbles
searching for the surface
in a sea of tomorrows