Undiscovered Poem by Eric Cockrell

no one to drink with -
no one to talk to...
if a man is an island,
i lie undiscovered.
do old men make good lovers?
do you burn old books?
or use them for your pillow?
and the old pair of jeans
you just wont throw away
still feels good on your ass!

tired of reading old newspapers,
i changed the candle by the bed.
swept the floor, took out the trash,
carried the broken branches
to the woods

is that my hand knocking?
or merely a breath of wind
rustling your curtains?