E: Favorites

Oct 2016 E

Dog days

Oct 2016 E

Doug Potter

Dog days

Remember when we buried a stray
dog under the old church bell
in your backyard? You said

the dog belonged to the *******
mechanic south of the school
& his mom set the animal

loose because she was jealous;
it did not make sense
then, it does, today.

Oct 2016 E

One day I will be blind

Oct 2016 E

Doug Potter

One day I will be blind

I was never the type
of child that obeyed
much of anything;
not even the many
times I was told
not to stare into
the evening sun
when I felt
alone.

Oct 2016 E

Lifting her blue

Oct 2016 E

r

Lifting her blue

I want her to rise up again
like when she lifted her blue
skirt looking at how brown
I am taking off my shirt
and there are somethings
you learn if you were born
on a farm where I watched
her shadow in the middle
of the night overlooking mine
in the dark where we hid
from the light listening
to the wind, that sad poet
of the unknown pulling back
the dead eyes of those singing
sweet songs in the long night.

Oct 2016 E

Immigrant Song

Oct 2016 E

Edward Coles

Immigrant Song

I have been the crying drunk in the hotel lobby,
The mosquito bite in the thin white sheets.
I have been the monsoon rain in the tropical heat;
I have been everything you said I could never be.

On the streets of dust I can eat my fill,
No more clouded eyes, no more ash-filled windowsill.
No more patient wait for my timely death,
No more passing glance; no more loneliness.

I will find my place with this foreign tongue,
On the precipice I write my immigrant song.
This culture shock makes me feel alive,
It kick-starts my heart; I finally turned the tide.

I finally made my peace in this call for arms,
In this incessant storm, I could feel the calm.
Could feel it loosen my bones,
That age-old ache, that I kissed on the mouth,
That I tried to replace

With every chemical within my reach,
With every pill or lie
That passed through my teeth.
I have been the crying drunk,
I have been the victim, too long.
I sit still and breathe.
I write my immigrant song.

C

#depression #anxiety #travel #recovery

Oct 2016 E

Outlines and shadows in the shade unread

Oct 2016 E

r

Outlines and shadows in the shade unread

For the last few years
I've lived by the water
and when I come home
from work I grab a bottle
to pour something from
and shut my eyes
to sip it or something
like that I look like
I'm dozing off but not
really because I'm a star
you think is a moon
that is moving like
the water I live on
sitting up in my bed
ashamed of the books
left in outlines and
shadows in the shade
where I draw a breath
all thirsty for the unread.

Oct 2016 E

Bone moth

Oct 2016 E

r

Bone moth

Last night I rode
that dark train
through the hollows
of my childhood
on the black wings
of a swallow fleeting
beneath the eaves
of long ago evenings
where bone moths
were breathing
their last breaths
while dead children
slept well up the hill.

Oct 2016 E

Idiosyncrasies & the Bar Scene

Oct 2016 E

Morgan

Idiosyncrasies & the Bar Scene

I didn't ask to be like this,
Sitting on a bar stool in south Philly,
Hoping no one notices the water in my fist
Because I don't drink,
And I can't decide if that matters

I didn't ask to be like this,
Counting tiles as I walk through them,
Hoping no one notices
the concentration in my teeth,
Because I can barely breathe,
And I can't decide if I want to

Liking the rain doesn't make you interesting,
it makes you half-past 20 in northern PA,
And saying whatever is on your mind
doesn't make you edgy,
It makes you obnoxious...
It makes me think just maybe
You talk a little bit too much,
And tequila shots don't make you brave,
They make you sound like an 18 year old,
Just as lost, just as confused, just as scared-
But less articulate for sure,
Your matte red lips aren't deep,
Your matte red lips match mine
& every other woman in this ******* bar,
I didn't come here to talk about acid trips,
Or the hypocrisy in your politics,
I didn't come here to make friends,
Ever think I just wanted to sit?

I haven't spoken a word out loud
In six weeks and three days,
So I'm sorry if my voice shakes

I don't go outside for much anymore
So I'm sorry if your blinded by my complexion

I work at a nursing home
And I'm nearly as dead
As the patients,
The failure in my brain
Is a little different
But I'm equally exhausted
By my inadequacies

Without a lack of trying
I'm begging for the strength
To slit my own throat,
Because I don't feel like
Showing up for an other day

My diagnosis is a list 6 pages long
Full of initialisms that
end in the letter "D"
For Disorder

And I promise my tattoos
Are not an invitation for conversation,
So don't look so confused
When I get up and walk away
From you

I keep telling my boyfriend
Not to fall in love with me
Even though I've been
In love with him all along

I keep telling my boyfriend
To protect himself
Because I've been on my way out
Since I turned sixteen,

I say,
"I never thought I'd make it to
twenty-two, but please remember
I didn't stay to be with you"

I'm always trying to save
Bright eyed people,
Full of swirling galaxies,
And light
From the way I seem to
hallow them out,

I'm sorry I stayed in bed
With the tick inside my head
Again this week,
Don't forgive me

Sep 2016 E

When Lisa lost her smile

Sep 2016 E

r

When Lisa lost her smile

I recall
her lost smile

like a sketch
I draw from my memory

and those days in the rain
laughing, drops

hitting the creek
slow as a dream

until a shadow
fell across the mirror

brushing her hair
in a dark room

like a honeycomb
of sad bees

and double entendres
two lifetimes ago.

Sep 2016 E

A Long Time Ago

Sep 2016 E

Edward Coles

A Long Time Ago

Collected sea shells
from every shoreline she came to.
Held onto a collar
from every animal she had loved.
Shelved old receipts
from every memory she could cling to.
Drank to forget all
she could not hold in her hands.

Moths stir the windowsill
preparing for her next cigarette.
She had lost interest.
A long time ago.

Agentic gratification:
the sugar hit,
the line of sniff,
the awful ***,
the pin-drop peace,
the loneliness.

Collected tattoos
from every song that saved her.
Gathered dust, the silhouettes
from every trophy of conquest.
Hoarded suitcases
from every time she had ran away.
Stayed inside to forget
all that she could not see.

Moths stir the windowsill.
People are just noise in the streets.
She had lost interest.
A long time ago.

C

#addiction #depression #life #anxiety #memories #solitude #ptsd

Sep 2016 E

Stoners in a Shed

Sep 2016 E

Edward Coles

Stoners in a Shed

The astral bowl was full of green smoke,
the tin roof, the fairy-light canopy;
two friends suffered in greed.
The backwater shed,
a monument of beer cans
blow listless on the lawn.

One says,
"I have not given up on my dreams
I have grown tired of sleeping through them."

The other, an insomniac, glistens:
"Merrily, Merrily, merrily, merrily..."

The television was on mute.
A flag assembles from the garments
retrieved at the end of the war.
A red-eyed stare
as they lament
the dried rivers in the carpet.

One says,
"There are eyes on me all the time
so I drink myself blind after work."

The other, a pessimist, decrees:
"you drink to steel yourself for the cliff-face-
no idea where you are going."

The sky was granite
as they ****** outside.
One turns to the other and says:
"I try to live an honest life
but it always feels like a lie."

The other, still *******, replies:
"we keep our secrets close to our person.
Now please - tuck yours back inside."

C

#ijustdontknow