Poetry 59 - Memory Redesigned

I’ve written hundreds of poems from March 31, 2017. However, they have shared a home - an abundance of thematic grieving. These works reflect best what I will refer to as my Elliott Smith era. Poems from that time, roughly the last four or five on this blog, would express that era of work well enough. That being said, I am ready to return to my standard sequence of writing.

Memory Redefined

There were hippos, sparks,
thought sharks lurking and flashing
from dark matter frog to dark matter
lily pad from the fog to the projector.

Spark
Spark
plugs, outlets, conductors -

copper falls to rubber whispers
muffled screams of once muscled dreams.

Broken circuits burn, the gears no longer turn.
Water and gears - a rusted desert to which
nothing healthy can return.

Poetry 57-58 - Mother and Father

Before I wandered too far
into the night sky,
there was you.

And after that sky devoured my soul
and after it spat it out - 

mangled like the kitten

who dared share food with the dog,

there was you.

Thanks, Mom.

-

You did not follow me down

all those sketchy roads.

No, and that's okay - 

you stayed

and made sure in the end
I would still have a home.

When I drove through walls

and into lives

undeserving of devastation - 

you were there

to pull me out of the wreck.

Thanks, Dad.

Poetry 56 - The Medicine

Sometimes,
the medicine tastes like
muffled screaming.

And others,
more like
the first sip
after a long thirst.

Poetry 55 - Keep the Scraps

If everyone kept the paint
that peels from their walls,
they could turn rooms
into rainbows.

Poetry 54 - Gentle Apathy

I spotted it land its funny little body on my left arm.
Innocent black wings,
and I did nothing.
And I will always remember
when I let that wasp sting me.

"Thank you," I said,
"for allowing me to feel so profoundly."

Poetry 53 - Resolve

And so the pain dissipated.
That deafening shriek
shrunk to an echo.

Poetry 52 - The First Night

The first night without you,
I woke up twice.
"Nightmares...
these are new."

I had no clue what terrible things my mind could draw

if it only had a muse.