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jack Sep 2018
I thought she was in the room with me
it is now clear she is somewhere
across a stretch of rushing thought
like a river that pulls those who dare to float
down onto breaking rocks.

My meaning seems to drown
swept away
and I make hasty calculations
on ****** expressions
trying to determine the safe passage
for my words.

What I would give
to be able to unshackle me from my body
climb into her head
and be done with guessing.
jack Jun 2018
I sit
with discomfort and rue
old friends
met in a bar serving
fried intentions
and partially baked
thoughts.

I question
how our relationship
has morphed
or perhaps I no longer
have the receptors
no taste
for their brand
of humor.

Laugh now
too big
for the small joke
a reflex learned
to keep the eyes away
from the tunnel
that leads to my true heart.

I continue
to subject
myself to ethical
jump-rope.

For the sake of shared history
I stumble past
moments of awkward being.
#older
jack Jun 2018
with
days now past
for the doses, I would not sleep
incantations keeping dark horses
at bay, crowding
the edge of sensation
with a tension
that kept me buoyant
yet moored.

draw
all fast fumbling thoughts
heartaches flooding into veins
discord between passion
and intellect
as my head drowns
needing now
too much sleep
as if to
find the rest
of my dreams.
jack Jun 2018
Oil
The oil evaporates
sludge taste
inhabits my inner-world,

The scene assumes
a character of brilliance
as my eyes are weighted
with blood and wonder.
jack Jun 2018
I, myself, crumpled on my desk
amongst strokes ambiguously
strewn across the inky darkness
(finding parchment)

thoughts never
make it to impulse
I seek to write
yet I find
I am a character being read
by the faceless observer.
jack Jun 2018
I am self-absorbed.
Like a sponge my mind
Feeds ambiguously,
Until a black mass
Is regurgitated
Back into existence
A contortion of recorded
Experience.
jack Jun 2018
I the spiritless animal in a cold urban forest,
snow-treading through for the horn-throwing
knuckle-shaving
glass-blowing
light-showing of a place
in a town of a city in a country of a world in a stretch of stars they call milk
then pain, tears, stretch marks and wrinkles, alcoholism, guilt, moderation within annihilation, coming out now for the big scenes, the big show of it all.
Old poem from a wintry city.
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