Material

She asked me
once
if I wasn’t
just
playing games,

dating crazy
women
for the
sheer
sake of experience.

Loving and leaving
with
every arbitrary
whim to
gain material
for another book.

I laughed
incredulously,
thinking
of every single
night spent

alone in
my apartment

drinking
whiskey
and listening to
Gram Parsons

in hopes that
writing would help
me get over
the most
recent disintegrating
relationship.

“Trust me”
I said.

“If that’s
what it
takes
to write
a good poem,
consider me
retired.

I can’t take
any more
drama.

I’d rather
give up
writing
than endure
such craziness
again.

It aint
worth it.”

Yet it came
much sooner
than I expected.

Once again
I’m staring
at a computer
screen

wishing that
I was a better
writer.

One
with the
ability
to examine
other things
in life
like

nature
rocks
snakes
desert
trees
clouds
skylines
television shows
or depraved
and depressed
people.

I’d rather
write about anything
besides
my latest
heartbreak
with her.

~Edward Austin Robertson