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Sam Lincoln May 2014
She lied in the unmade hotel bed,
in nothing but dark white underwear.
Dark-green black-out curtains,
with a slit in the middle, filtered

and framed the sorrowful light
of noontime; leaving a bar of sun
That made dust waltz in the musky air,  
and illuminating the small

Of the woman’s back and hips,
making the skin shine. Her husband
stood at the foot of the bed looking
in the mirror and glanced back at her

napping and she looked so harmless,
like a child− or an animal; like she had
never been hurt, or sunk her teeth in another.
Two nights before they fought about silverware,

and he watched a documentary on wildlife survival
in which a hunter strangled a rabbit to death,
and it made him wonder how it would feel
to hold the animal by the throat, while it

squirmed and cried for breath within the hand.
For some reason, He concluded it would feel
easier to smother someone to death with a pillow.
The couple decided to leave the city,

To pretend they had a fresh start,
from the fact that it had been a whole
season since they had last touched
the room came with bed made,

and complimentary soaps on the
counter.
when the woman got up,
they walked to the shore a block away.

The sun was turning red, and falling
below the feminine silhouette of the earth,
and the wind picked up moving the water,
like a mirror unfolding and dividing indefinitely.

The woman walked farther out on the gray
sand and told the man to take a picture of her,
the sun behind her illuminating each tendril of dead
skin flouting round her head like threads of dark wine.

She laughed, and the sound carried
out through the water and came back, like an
invisible
twin.

Later that night the man stood on the porch
smoking. The moon was rising and full.
He could hear the giggling of a young couple
room beyond the courtyard. They were

Skinny-dipping in the pool; the woman embraced
in the young man’s arms legs wrapped our his waist.
The old man suddenly felt warm, recalling his flash adolescence
in extinct lukewarm nights like this. A tinge of nostalgia
and regret that rose and fell for a second and then disappeared.

He then scoffed, threw the smoldering smoke off the porch,
walked back to his room, and slammed the door.
Sam Lincoln May 2014
When the homes were wearing
The shroud of 4am, I was forgetting

The glass oracle that carries
All of our coffins to receding galaxies.

I was forgetting the woman wearing
Diamonds I saw last night, standing

Beyond the empty street that lead to the park
Naked, and coiling like a snake on top

Of the body of some so lonely looking man.
I was forgetting the way, I then imagined

How the spittle swelled on her tongue
To drip to the cement then beyond cement,

To the shifting clay under foot.
In shroud of 4:01am, I was forgetting

The sleep routine of my lover drudging
To the door to bolt, then stopping to look

Down at me, lost in the some snake skin
Husk of me; creating poems not to by eyed

By porcelain birds that shatter like
Wineglasses on the marble floor

Of my dream home.
In the light of 5:03am I woke

After forgetting how
The attractive force of earth

Has a hold on everything I got
To the roof, feeling the sharpness

Of sandpaper shingles, and stepped
Out, finally taken back by a conclusion,


When my body was grasped by gravity
And thrown to the gravel, breaking

Both ankles.
Sam Lincoln May 2014
The lights of street

came in through the trees

as I breathes in so slow,

Trapped in in my mouth

please stop staring at me

Ask why I’m looking so low

.

I fall through the asphalt

in to the hands of the dirt

and come closer to something

that gives some sense of purpose

.

I’m lost

I’m lost

I’m lost

so lead me to the end of the dock

I’m lost

I’m lost

I’m lost

I believe in the future, but not in the one that I want

.

So how do I feel this way?

When I’m afraid of everything?

The way my chest wakes up and sings.

So how do I live

When I’m hiding under the sheets

The way my eyes still search for something
Sam Lincoln May 2014
The clock near the doorway

you are a woman

I haven’t ruined yet

tender and wet

and so full of promise.

.

I saw you across the room

through the sound

and the chaos

quietly laughing

.

I saw your eyes

and they broke me

.

All the inifinity

you hold in your arms

.

Let me in,

and I always swear

I will never frown

.

I got up to reach for you,

but when I looked up

your coat was out the door

.

When I walked out the back

you were heading towards the trees edge

your sillouet seducing me

.

I keep thinking I can grab you, love

.

as I step on the the sod

your figure becomes distorted

.

but I remember,

your skin was wax and ***

and innocence

.

Your back is lulling me in to the abyss

but I do not care if I lose the house now

I need you

I embark towards infinity
Sam Lincoln May 2014
I know evil when I see it

So when you arrive home

with smiles and promises

I want to expose your true form

and have the whole world scream in horror

and then puke in disgust

and it will all flood the streets

and we will be swept away in filth

praying to our gods that we can only be okay

But for now,

No one sees your poison.

It is nice to have you home.
Sam Lincoln May 2014
I didn't catch you shimmy the unwinding

Stair case of being,

to meet with the future me, dead cats,

And lost family.

You could still be panting on the rug,

And smiling like someone lost in puppy love.

You are a friend who,

Moved to,

The neighboring town.

Where I miss you, but hope that

You are happier where you are.

Lost in endless socks and resolve.

I still remember.

Here or not.

I still love you.
Sam Lincoln May 2014
I’ve been pulling words
From me like splinters from my palm,
With razor in hand
Peeling back dead skin to show the articulations,
And it feels like I’m losing myself when I take it out.
Each bit of language splatting on linoleum floors in front of a cackling audience.
I didn’t want you to hear this.
I don’t think I can say it. I think I’ll go home.
I’m losing steam through my mouth and moving nowhere
I don’t have any answers, unimportant questions to ******* peers
And I’m going in circles with them, and with myself.

Last month I tried to write a poem about childhood
When I lived in that house in the woods by the lake
I can think of the pictures but I can’t get them together
There were times when I walked in the rain to school,
And there were times when I told my mom “I wish I wasn’t born” because I had to go to sleep at 9:30pm but,
I keep thinking of the last time I saw my mom,
She was looking much weaker
And the doctors gave her morphine for the pain
Sleeping in the hospital bed
In the living room in which I grew up.
It didn’t seem real.
I was too shocked to speak
My only resolve to everything,
"That's life"
But that is life.
I don't need to narrate the hole in my throat.
Doesn't the soliloquy sound like a
Crying baby?
I am the melodramatic Hamlet crying for you now.
Don’t look at me.

I’m running circles on ***** laundry.
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