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Robert McKinlay Aug 2017
It has gone
sense of space
travelling along edge of mind
elegant 8

if I were to say it
there would be no sound
if I were to think it
it would not be defined
if I were to care
it would be quick to remind
it has come
it has gone

sense of space
around the edge
about face
staring at the dream
anxious that
I have already been.
existence is fleeting and never ending
  Dec 2016 Robert McKinlay
JJ Hutton
In Farmington the misfit suffers the jukebox and dances to an unknown song. He dances on the pool table. He wears black—black skull cap, black
duster, black shirt, black slacks, black boots. He's in Farmington and
the women here drink Bud Light. He dances slow. It's similar to a dance
you've seen before. You have that friend that climbs on couches after a few and half staggers, half sways. The women here watch him with unhappy eyes and hands stained blue from the textile mill. He seems to mouth the words although he clearly doesn't know the song. They, the women, dig their elbows into the bar. Pocked and graffiti'd, the bar soaks up spilled beer and ash and nail polish. Behind the bar a sign reads: Free Beer Tomorrow. And for some reason, you must admit, this sign's effect never dulls. The Misfit pantomimes a dance with a pool cue. His face is severe, serious. He's in Farmington dancing with a pool cue on a pool table to a song he doesn't know like a drunk friend of yours and the women are watching. Next, he does something amazing. He removes his cap. He's got shocks of bleached hair and burn scars run like rivulets between the patches. He tosses the cap toward the bar. One lucky woman catches it and summons herself to the pool table. You want them to have a bit of dialogue here, to say something oblique and innocent. Instead the lucky woman dances at the man's feet. He surrenders a smile and he's got small tracts of bleached hair and burn scars and he's in all black and he's dancing. The lucky woman, she's in a canary yellow patch dress. Her dance, although clumsy, still mesmerizes you. It's without ego, without shame. She is a child. She is the light in the room. She is, in this moment, the world entire. He pulls her onto the table. It's time to appoint the Misfit and the lucky woman names, you think. His name shall be Joshua. Her name shall be Anna. Palms together, her head resting on his chest, they sway. The smoke and the tracers of light meld and Joshua and Anna's outlines become muddied. Their bodies merge and they are both yellow and black and covered in burn scars and bleached hair and the women are still watching. As the song starts to fade, someone—maybe it's you—drops a few coins in the jukebox and it begins again.
Robert McKinlay Dec 2015
When life has built a massive apparatus, you try to play melodies of comfort, but are often left with flickering images that glow dark; lending more beauty to the light of now.
Robert McKinlay Dec 2015
As set forth
with elongated majesty
every step, every regal byte;
be it monitored,
be it impolite.

with enriched history
every misstep, every evil blight;
it is remembered,
it is contrite.

with fanciful thought
every back peddle, every slight;
it is hands that do the talking,
it is plans to put up a fight!
Robert McKinlay Sep 2015
Life's greatest failures
set to classical music
flares of modern
tears and laughter fluid
within reverb,
called out on an antiquated device
lol not read well
nor did you understand
It remains
background echoes
chase dreams
blue monstrosities
flow from open wounds
invite ingestion
now must, or sweat
terror of reigns
classical rhythm
change station
left muted suspicion
right mastered
joint of sorts
wicked blue monstrosities
wherein lies fault.
Robert McKinlay Sep 2015
Recollections of you
rotted flesh flashed
smirked smoke
no mirrors amplify
pyre rise high
a match
ready to strike
trumpets gallantly play
naked through the street
live in guttural
flee the walking man
humbled by
a single flame
ash spread
acrid burn
primed for war paint
blackened walls
waged a slave
plagued inert.
Robert McKinlay Jan 2015
You were the height of existence
more high than view
a poor man's whimsical consolation
I'll give that to you
and you took
you took
thigh then broke through
you were an ***
face askew

You were the master of nothing
lowly looking far from view
heart beat inaudible; polemic attribution
no want of memory
and you smiled
you smiled
pin what you could
held steadfast

I don't know who you were
I don't know that it was you
I don't recall the sound or when it stopped
I only remember when it restarted
absent a shadow
absent from view.
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