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 Aug 2015 joe slimak
Sam Temple
course and stubbly moustache whiskers brush against my forehead
sending uncontrollable shivers of discontent
through my narcotic addled body
beginning to rouse from my ****** induced slumber
I catch out of my periphery the chubby cheeks
and balding dome of the man who pays to **** my **** –
days to weeks to months…
18 long, despair filled terror
never a moments rest
or a minute of peaceful sleep
despite half a gram a day black tar
intravenously gifted to a bleak and melancholy  
man-***** –
blue eyes following my every movement
ready to pounce like a rascally kitten
except this is not cute
and boarders on ****
as a sleeping / drug induced coma victim
is really unable to say yes –
the mirror holds no lie
and I see the truth each day as I wash my face
no amount of soap
can ever clean away the filth…
guilt and addiction
what a terrible combination for this poor ole chappy –
 Aug 2015 joe slimak
Sam Temple
the expressions of a blanket half-buried in the snow
mountain ranges and glacial valleys
as poly-blend fibers wrinkle under the weight
fibrous and wind blown
like the mossy lichen
on a high isolated peak
cold to the touch and sticking to wet fingers
the ice sheet forms without fanfare
giving rise to reddened digits
and the first invitation to a black and lifeless
frost bite victim.
subzero temperatures
send swirling crystals high into the air
giving the image of flying diamonds
gently falling and twirling in a gentle winter’s breeze
rainbow prisms dance across faded wool
frayed edges play in the wind
twisting and knotting themselves
as if the weather
were attempting to **** or mend
the ancient coverer of bodies and equipment.
sad howl travels the length of the valley
carrying the sorrow of no spring on the horizon
branches brake under the weight of water, reshaped as an ice shield
mournful cattle huddle beneath a lone elm
leaf-less and barren
shivering leather stands in solitude
waiting for the growl of an old truck
to drag yet another bale of hay
out into the tundra. –
 Aug 2015 joe slimak
Sam Temple
Paul Simon wrote a tune
going on about the soles of a woman’s shoes
and the diamonds therein…
not to be outdone, I will attempt to regale you
with my own tale of diamond feet –
t’was approaching dusk
when my compadre and myself dropped
the lovely little purple tablets
two each...
was a ’94 Nissan that took us from Salem to Pacific City
and nestled us safely into Bob Straub state park
tracers and shadow images were starting to disrupt
and we began the long hike to the mouth of the Nestucca –
darkness was all around ‘cept the amazing starlit sky
not a sliver of moon shown
and the tide had slipped away quietly,
we found ourselves in the flats
a slight reflection of the stars on the wet sand below
and instantly we were both transported into the vastness of the universe
surrounded on all sides by nothing but the glimmering of a billion individual stars
(…. I am sure if I had took to spinning endlessly
like a small child in the summer sun,
I would have disappeared entirely
blending forever with the cosmos that engulfed me….)
I knew at that moment why my ancestors
high on ergot
thought the world flat –
we joined each other on a small spikey grass patch
and commenced smoking pipe full
after pipe full
discussing our connection to the everything
and the minuet nature of man
without ever saying a word…
those in the know, know
all we got from the pile of **** was thick slimy spit
and the desire to keep moving…
so back down the three mile stretch of sand we went
aiming at a fogged-out
barely visible street lamp
signifying the parking lot and the safety of the little grey Sentra –
at some point along the return journey,
in a moment of playfulness,
my dear friend kicked a small amount of sand in my general direction
the explosion of diamonds and refracted light prisms
which danced across the spread pattern
fanning 15 feet from his worn house shoes
was more than we could believe.
I kicked back with slightly more vigor
we watched glittery sparkling sand fly
catching each other’s eye, huge acid inspired smiles took over
first just a little kick, then diamond glitter in all directions
then a soccer star punt
shooting stars across the sandy beach
each new step
a thousand disco ***** reflecting off the calm sea
each kick,
more diamonds than all of South Africa…….
It was this trip we made the conscious decision,
“two people witnessing the same thing is a confirmed sighting;
and therefore really happened.”
 Aug 2015 joe slimak
Sam Temple
somewhere over two packs a day
budget smokes
tobacco and chemicals swept up off the plant floor
combines with well over one thousand gallons of Jim Beam
hate-fest on the liver and lungs –
from under twenty the ******* and LSD
sherm’s with the break dancers
in the Frisco Bay
years of **** abuse
both via the nose,
and also from a foil tube
………….
and then the ****** –

50 plus years old in an emergency room
looking at pictures
of  10% heart function
fuzzy, grainy, distorted,
and true…
major life changes ensue
through with smoking and eating garbage
afraid of road rage
and defibrillation
sitting in a basement
thinking about my cannabis oil
and a November trip to Colorado. –

phone calls to friends expressing a new version
telling the youth the lifestyle isn’t always the way
living fast and dying young
doesn’t always work
rarely leaves a pretty corpse
and won’t make you any more of a badass….
to live one’s life to the fullest
each and every day
with no consideration for the outcome
sometimes has you looking at pictures
of healthy lungs
plaque free arteries
a clean liver
and only 10% heart function –

Images I have never seen
waltz through my mind
slowly turning and moving to and fro
one, two, three
one, two, three
the rhythm matching the unevenness
of his most important muscle
I sit quietly on the edge of my bed
thinking over a lifetime and my best dear friend
I hope we make it to November. –

— The End —