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Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

9

The guilt, the realization
this will never be recovered, pulls
at my bones, threatens to snap.

I can move on
all I want

but
the dreams won’t quit
striking

the moment
there’s vulnerability.

I push back sleep,
spend hours staring into the carpet
like I’ll see into some soul
that never was.

Do you hate me?
I know the answer
even if you pretend you don’t.

Chewed up, thrown up
on the table
we used to sit around.

At my lowest point
and I still don’t want to die,
but it gets harder
to breathe easy.

Rock bottom
and I still don’t cry,
my heart getting harder
as my head gets dizzy.

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Bluecycle

One screen to the next:
phone then TV then laptop then desktop.
A cycle of blue glow against eyes
then troubled sleep before it all starts again.

I witness firsthand the effects,
any attention secondhand; trickle-down love,
it works as well as it does in economics
until I start to believe I deserve only a drop
in return,

my mouth perpetually dry and unable
to form enough saliva to speak up for myself, to express
how a room can be so warm and I (or we) so cold
that no amount of heating can make up for this.

What does it say about us (or you) [or me] that
I feel closer to you when we’re apart? You make it all
sound so sweet, missing me, wanting to be near.
But then when we are, there’s a screen blocking out
the union of our gaze and the blue sets in again.

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Noise at 3:37am

You’re David Johnson.
If you had any friends they’d call you Dave.
Common as dirt kind of name. You’re Dave
and you’re cleaning your rifle.
You’re trying to clean your rifle but
Mitch in the apartment below you
has got his music on again.
Very loud. It’s 3:34am
and his music is too loud.
It’s distracting. It’s Satan.
That’s what religion does. You’re worried
the woman above you is going to accuse you
of what Mitch is doing.
That you’ll end up on the street
because of that asshole. It’s 3:35am
and you’re gonna kill him so you’re cleaning your rifle.
You’ve got hours to spare
but no elbow room for silence.
Mitch is noisy, inconsiderate.
The woman upstairs is nosey, illiterate.
And you’re Dave, sandwiched between them.
3:35am still. A second floor prisoner.
You’re David Johnson and you’ve finished cleaning your rifle.
Mitch had better be moving on.

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Three Crown

They invaded the castle,
kidnapped the king.
Though he was an asshole,
warning bells will still ring.

The elixir’s run dry,
so no spells to singe them.
The swarm, reinforced,
will take over our kingdom.

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How Low

If I speak with a hunger
instead of being full,
can I bring you to my side,
will you begin to feel the pull?

Rhythm is clunky
late into the night
when the brain’s a bit slower
in its reaction time.

The carpet is sand,
and I’m sinking in its depths.
I do this every night,
and I’ve died a million deaths.

There was so much time.
Where did it go?
I pissed it away,
but at least I got blown.

The hum of the fridge,
and that slight, constant clatter.
I could find it scary,
but it wouldn’t even matter.

My imagination
got the best and worst of me,
and now I’m stuck in limbo
for all eternity.

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Why isn’t it class warfare
when the top exploits the poor?
It’s only when we call it out
that they say it’s waging war.

The richest country in the world,
taking advantage constantly.
We can be rich and generous too,
treating people lovingly.

Republicans are not the answer,
while Democrats help them along.
A hawkish bird with two right wings
can’t fly for very long.

Won’t we trade in our apathy
for tireless compassion,
and our words on social media
for real, courageous action?

A radical love is the medicine
our diseased body cries out for.
Let’s bring about the progress
we move without a doubt toward.

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School Friends

In another bed
I dreamt of you,
even though it’s been months
since I saw you at school.

We were friends just like
we were in class,
and I made you smile,
I made you laugh.

I wake up sad
because I already know
I’ll never see you again.
That’s just how these things go.

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