Month: July 2015

Life, Death, & Hospital Dinners

There’s that smell                                  That pale green laughter That chokes your throat Translucent yellow walls Glowing under florescent lights That will cut you out of Tourniquets and into heaven. The woman with the chipped nails and Painted smile holds a tray filled With today’s fate: a slew of pale things Grey peas, stiff meat, and something they Call potatoes Ladled with orange petroleum And she says, enjoy And I thank her As such a courteous fool does Ted Bundy got steak And eggs before he died Could I have not made the same Request? When the mind turns to mush That’s all They care to feed you I proceed with futile attempts To stab at the peas of Government sympathy With something that is neither A spoon, nor a fork Enjoy, indeed. But here I sit, propped up by Starchy pillows not meant for rest The flowers on the table have turned Pungent, and the pictures of smiling People I no longer recognize Have abandoned me just as my mind Has them And I’m sure …

On Things Forgotten

Recoiled skies pass in reckless abandon The wind blows through the windows, Prickly pear and other thorny things sprouting limbs And creeping up the walls of this old sheriff’s office Remain the only living occupants. If walls could talk, they mightn’t choose to speak… We leave things hanging on hall trees, And mounted above mantles Small reminders that there was life inside at Some point. But the bones and blood Of these buildings runs cold, Until there is nothing but the Forlorn faith of somber cries From voices long underground. Ghost towns and old railyards mark the skin of This heartland, Long bleached from the sun and Rusted away from unfair weather. It’s a wonder what this place must’ve been Before time turned executioner, Before people picked up their shadows And blew away like rain-flit flames Struggling for a life that is no longer theirs. Now the frames wilt And weather away in rural decay, Things that once housed, fed, and warmed Now sink back into deformed Earth. Laughes do not echo off the walls, The …

Summer Thus Far…

Talked to a friend on the phone, told her I’d forgotten how to write. It’s true. Maybe it’s just that I have nothing to say really. Who is it I’m speaking to now, exactly? I’ve been told too often that I’m overly vague. But my life isn’t exactly something that can entertain pages upon pages, or even a handful of people really. To be honest, it’s just scraps, feathered pieces of paper torn on each end. Sometimes I wonder why I even write things here…. And then I remember: because it feels good to write things down. Put words down on a page that only really half-exists. Anyway, back to the content of my life, I’m ambiguous and indistinct. Maybe that’s why I’ve taken to poems. The right people to seem to understand them (or at least in my mind they do.) It’s like a type of codex; poems unite likewise minds flowing down the current of the universe. But in attempt to be a little less vague, let me share a little piece of …