It is a cliche.
That piercing feeling below layers of dermis.
You have been shot.
No one wants to believe it.
A winged baby in diapers hitting you with an arrow.
The image taunts on red and pink cards
and in windows.
But one day you are somewhere
and you feel a piercing
in the middle of your chest.
You hope it is an anxiety attack
a heart palpitation.
Sadly it is something unexpected.
That L-thing
as the arrow pierces
1, 2, 3 layers
into rib cages
and hits the heart.
Showing posts with label POEM 22. Show all posts
Showing posts with label POEM 22. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Deep Down
Deep Down
Deep.
We sink through potholes
in our paths
quicksand at our toes.
Fast moving we push upward
trying to free from the blackness below.
But we still plunge in
feet first
head still seeing sky
and feeling wind.
Deep down
low low down
it is fast
a sucking of the body into gravity
as you beat against it
the dirt tide pulls harder
and all you see is dark
brown soil
to breath in
gaze at
consume.
In the deep down
deep
all there is
is ground.
Deep.
We sink through potholes
in our paths
quicksand at our toes.
Fast moving we push upward
trying to free from the blackness below.
But we still plunge in
feet first
head still seeing sky
and feeling wind.
Deep down
low low down
it is fast
a sucking of the body into gravity
as you beat against it
the dirt tide pulls harder
and all you see is dark
brown soil
to breath in
gaze at
consume.
In the deep down
deep
all there is
is ground.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Rambo Fantasy
you're going to grow up to be a bum
drinking 24 oz Coors
on strip mall lawns
smoking Marlboros
in the middle of the god damn day
no longer hooligans getting into mischief
adults of sound mind
making poor decisions
keep walking, son
we don't like your kind
i'm tough, but
i just want to be left alone
people have to learn the hard way
like in Rambo
drinking 24 oz Coors
on strip mall lawns
smoking Marlboros
in the middle of the god damn day
no longer hooligans getting into mischief
adults of sound mind
making poor decisions
keep walking, son
we don't like your kind
i'm tough, but
i just want to be left alone
people have to learn the hard way
like in Rambo
Sunday, January 23, 2011
A shrinking poem about friends
talking to a friend helps you realize how ridiculous you sound
shifting your food to make it look like you're eating
A good friend knows when you're hungry
I hope I was some help to you
Do me a personal favor
go fuck yourself
I love you
Uncle Billy
Sometimes my Uncle Billy pulls up his shirt to show his scars
from years ago
when he had Necrotizing fasciitis,
the flesh eating disease
He lived in Lynchburg, Virginia
was flown to Charlottesville where they were better suited to treat him
my cousin stood by as the doctors told my Aunt Marcia
he wasn't going to make it
they burst into tears
my mom would go to church every night with my grandma
i remember sitting on her bed as she talked to me,
sobbing in the bathroom
Uncle Billy's scars stretch from his armpit down his side
reminding him of all the toxic tissue
reminding us all of what was removed
of how close we came to losing him.
from years ago
when he had Necrotizing fasciitis,
the flesh eating disease
He lived in Lynchburg, Virginia
was flown to Charlottesville where they were better suited to treat him
my cousin stood by as the doctors told my Aunt Marcia
he wasn't going to make it
they burst into tears
my mom would go to church every night with my grandma
i remember sitting on her bed as she talked to me,
sobbing in the bathroom
Uncle Billy's scars stretch from his armpit down his side
reminding him of all the toxic tissue
reminding us all of what was removed
of how close we came to losing him.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)