42

moon-day morning
and the crickets gesture
quietly towards an azure sky
on mornings like this
i often forget my words
lost on surface thoughts
penetrating a steamy bedroom window
i’m tired and spread thin
should i flip the switch
on this random euphoria
and wait for a clearer head?

one more cup of coffee
and the blackest mornings are always white
one more cigarette
before fate sells me
another fair weather fallacy

scrupulous satellites
have replaced
shimmering angels
and snowstorms are no longer fun

rounded off
with radar gun love
we want to touch
and then to feel
we want somehow
to be real
yet we are
shaded and sober
forgotten
like a glass clown
on elderly bookshelf

hard men are now soft
and winter words
threaten us
with eternal sleep

sharpen your wit
on stone hearts
surrender to
magnetic meditation
and muted medication
art follows soul
and soul falls to science
so, flick the switchblade
and remember
to carry a song in your pocket

walking on slippery roads
it’s easy to forget how to laugh
sometimes all i can do
is scribble lost notes
on digital platforms
and sometimes randoms thoughts
are all that keep me going

tongues clash with vacant minds
and serpentine eyes sever salty sheets
retreat into that childhood abyss

life isn’t bad
it’s just
long
and sometimes
lonely
so, give me a silver blade
to carve out a safety pin soul

forty-two years
incomplete and waiting
every sunrise sets a new standard
as the fiery gaze
of that oldest of gods
creeps over the horizon
setting his utilitarian gaze on my front door
to save me from my own tainted reflection
and remind me i’m still alive
it’s not easy to write perfection
and it’s even harder to keep it

394-42

Share

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.