I finally started going though boxes in the garage that have been packed and moved around different storage situations for years. i found a little notepad from the hotel in Vegas that i found in the room, and apparently had been writing some of my random poems in.
    i was no doubt drunk, as i always was at that time in my life, and i'm not even sure i finished it, or if the abrupt ending made sense to me.

here are the scribbled lines:

11/15/05
It's not thru burning
are we spent,
but life thru learning
have we been lent
the truth of the sky
suffusing the night.

For Day is the intruder
trespassing the swollen lips

-----
maybe i meant to go on, but got lost in my Tullamore Dew...maybe i just forgot the period. 

it's strange that i'm still the person who wrote that, and yet my life has changed so much in the last 7 years- I have changed- so that it's like trying to decipher a note someone wrote me long ago...someone who liked to be unclear about what he was trying to convey. like he wants you to know, but a part of him wants you to have to figure it out. like giving too much away will make him lose himself...

i am still internally conflicted by a compelling drive to share myself with the world, and an inherent need to keep myself safe.
but hopefully my poetry gets better.