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 Apr 2011 Joe Butler
Jessie
One night I was with a friend,
Visiting and spending time.
I took a sip of water,
And set the glass on the table nearby
Without looking.

When I turned to the glass
To take another sip,
I noticed the glass was only
Halfway
On the Table.

If the table is bumped,
If I don't grasp the glass
Just right
It could fall.
I looked at it,
Almost afraid to
Touch it.
It was an accident
Waiting
To happen.

I looked closer to the water in the glass
And saw my reflection
And realized
That I was the glass,
Just waiting to spilled,
On the edge,
Just waiting
For someone to shake my table
And let me fall
To shatter on the ground
With water all around.
 Apr 2011 Joe Butler
Jessie
what am i?

person
     animal
body          
    (      
   organs
      bones
  teeth
    fingernails
           skin
               )


soul?
.

have i
    always
been    
        here
?    

what was i
before      
i was a
         blob of goo
in the womb?    
.
.
.
what will i be
when the
body      
is barely    
        dust?
.
.
(whose brain do i live in?)
.
.

*perhaps to
   someone else

i'm just the
little girl in their
imagination            
that lives
      in the attic

of a tall house,
sitting at her    
writing desk  

writing
poetry
this is the second part to "imaginary. . . ."
 Apr 2011 Joe Butler
Jessie
who
       are
            you?

what is your
                     name?

why are you here,
          living in my
                          brain. . . . .?

tell me everything
             everything

where
           did you come from?

(
she's a tiny light in my heart-
the giggle you hear when i'm
happy-
)

she
is
always
here

and
was
always
there
when
no
on­e
else
was
.
.
(she is the one who is me when i am not)
.
.

*though
            she already
                     knows
                         me

i will spend
                     forever
getting to
                     know her~~
this is about Jessica (my imaginary friend), of course. ". . . .real" is the second poem in the poem duet.
 Apr 2011 Joe Butler
Jessie
Life is too busy with its own simple demands,
And subtle rejections for dreamers. She's been asleep
For a day and a half, but she hasn't closed her eyes
In over twenty four hours. She watches the
Clock, begging it to move slowly. Just give her
A little longer in her blanket, her bed, her
Fortress, before the day has to begin.

She lays frozen, like a fleshy Popsicle,
Waiting for even hunger to offer a different
Feeling. Life, with its tedious footsteps into the
Office, and its lonesome visits to the shrine of the
Porcelain god, for a moment of silence from
Chatter over coffee, and the tapping of
Keyboards; life is too noisy for dreamers.

Just let her sleep a while longer,
For dreams and darkness offer more
To a mind starved for beauty,
Than sunlit strolls to crowded buildings
Ever did. She drinks her coffee with only
One sugar, five times a day. She fills her
Blood with caffeine and time. She watches the
Clock, daring it to move quickly. She screams
Inside her head until it's time to go home, and
Lay back in bed.
redone.
 Mar 2011 Joe Butler
Jessie
One day,
I made a flip book out of sticky notes.

It was about a stick man who
shoots himself with an
ink pen pistol
and bleeds all over the
imaginary floor.
I named it
"Goodbye"
.


When I played with the book
I found that it was easier to flip the pages
backwards
because the pages kept
skipping and sticking.

So now,
the story is about
a man who is laying
dead on the ground, when
suddenly!
he raises from the ground!
and a bullet from out of
NOWHERE
flies through the air
and through the gaping holes
in his bleeding head,
patching up his wounds,
and landing safely
into the
pistol

"Hello."
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