An Average Urban Journey

Inanimate

as you leak long and slow

worrying about rupture

all hunched over wincing

drunk off pain

you take a break from monotony

it’s raining outside right now

but that doesn’t matter what matters

is pain staring back at you thru a mirror

the absence of soul and meaning

knowing that if you could see forever

that there would be an infinite number of you

although artificial

as the cold fluid supposedly water touches

your fingers suddenly stopping somehow automatically

when you should stop feeling

if only you’d stop feeling

Tracing Emptiness

Release trepidation

when crossing

splintered

wooden beams

spaced three feet apart

at the rusty

trestle bridging nowhere to never-ending

nowhere, in the small town I grew up in

next to the now abandoned city of my father,

at the site of a childhood

beating by an older boy with a 2 x 4.

 

Was it by chance that the nails protruding from the wood

were bent? Was it strange how I noticed, while raising

my bloodied hands in defense, how his weapon

matched the setting?

 

Years later,

the same splinters

tore through love

and fatherly flesh

via PCP disguised as weed.

Breathing While Being Cold and Soaking Wet

Breathing while being cold and soaking wet

The zen of an old man with no time left

You are fighting, desiring death and yet

 

Purposes stem from needing an outlet

When creation fails it will lead to death

Breathing while being cold and soaking wet

 

Thoughts turn to hunger and getting shot at

Hallucinations have committed theft

You are fighting, desiring death and yet

 

You know that you are not worthy of it

Recalling damage done under your chest

Breathing while being cold and soaking wet

 

This is as bad as it’s going to get

The last sand trickles from your hands outstretched

You are fighting, desiring death and yet

 

While waiting for the train brooding you met

A lovely shade and shared a cigarette

Breathing while being cold and soaking wet

You are fighting, desiring death and yet

Good Thing

out and about

while sitting

down and all

worthwhile

and bile

pickin’ up

where you left

years ago

good thing you

didn’t leapt off

so many times

ago

good thing

you keep going at it