When death lurks on your morning stroll

baked by the fresh, morning sun
the streets reek of boredom, panic, and piss
decide to practice increased tactility

practice keeping my head from bowing to track my shoes
practice my breathing
practice regulating judgmental tendencies

achieve temporary reprieve
enjoy a brief taste of peace
until I remember that there is horror

horror and death, that floats above us all
ready to set upon us at will and whim
there is danger, and blindness, and strokes, and insanity, and…

and then, I remember women
I remember sex with a woman
feel myself growing lighter, in shade and weight

feel myself getting hard
and suddenly
I’m not thinking about dying, anymore

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Do You Mind?

The mind that for
I can only fathom a guess
over two decades has been
for whatever ill-conceived reason
protected from harm and damage
inside a skull,
behind eyes,
atop a body,
whose digits drum incessantly
in intrusively noisy percussion
on the hard and hollow table-top,
is a mind that seems to me
allergic to stillness,
averse to silence,
absent of concern,
regard, or courtesy.
This mind,
this horrible and annoying mind,
may it enjoy its time
being met with kind smiles
and polite laughter for now
and may it at last and for good
meet its reckoning.
I curse you, O chatterbox.
I curse you, and hope
both your thumbs shrivel into toes
and eventually drop from your hands
into the mud
where they are consumed,
digested as seed-pods
and grow into enormous beanstalks
which yields nary a bean,
ever.

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What Went Wrong

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“This can’t be the end,” she said as her eyes filled with infant tears.
He didn’t know what to say to her and to those tears,
and so he simply said, “It has to end some way.”
“You’re a shit,” she said, and turned away.
He wasn’t sure exactly where they went wrong, and what happened.
Thinking then about what she said, she wasn’t sure what the world went wrong either.

Jack, or was it Jake?

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I.

Jack. Or Jake. I don’t exactly know for sure, ’cause everybody used to call the cat one or the other.

One night old Paul’d be in and see the skinny cat hangin’ out in his usual spot at the end of the counter. He’d holler, “How you been, Jake?” And cat would nod and say somethin’ like, “Not bad,” or what have you. Continue reading

Back on Earth

highway94

~Part Five~

“Hello,” you say.

A moment, then the man calls back. “Are you all right?”

You think about the question. Are you all right? Are you? The query confounds you. You look down at your hands, as thought they might be holding some answer.

Before you can say anything in response, “Do you wanna lift?” asks the man by the truck.

He is asking if I need help, you finally decide.

“No, thank you,” you say. You aren’t exactly sure what the expression means, but you say it. It feels like the correct way to answer.