Startled, I jump.
I have awoken in a bed. Not mine. I think.
But one that might have been an amalgam of all of them. It smells vaguely of lost loves.

“Hello, Ryan,” I hear from the darkness, once again making me jump. Standing in the doorway is a slight young woman. I could have sworn she wasn’t there a minute ago.

I step towards her. Rather than getting closer she slowly illuminates more, like a dimmer switch and a camera coming into focus simultaneously.
Stark realization overwhelms me. I rush over and close the distance in a blink, wrapping my arms around her, tears trailing behind me. They remain suspended in the air as globules of liquid remembrance.

“Heather?” “I thought you were gone. That we lost you?”

“I am. And so are you.”
“At least for now.”

She pries me from her and pushes back into the darkness.
“Am I dead?”

“Not yet,” she says.

“Are you… You?”

“Sort of.”
“I am the me you remember.”
“Being dead is like this odd disconnected collection of everyone else’s recollection of you. I am what you think I was.”
“The rest of me is in someone else.”
“It’s kinda like God. He/She/It/They are whatever people think they are. Whatever they worship as the divine is. They think therefore are.”

“Is this heaven?”

“No. It’s just me.”

“Are you God?”

“We are all are, kinda.”

“Look, I need to tell you something. Something you’ve lived with your whole life. Without living your whole life.”
“WAKE UP”

Analog Man
by Ryan P. Kinney

I am the analog man
Do not give me your zeros and ones
Black and whites
I'll take a red two any day

Old fashioned old school
All chivalry and filth
That mars the scars
Customized dirt
Nothing is written in stone yet
(or in the dirt)

I wear these glasses,
This fraud,
As armor,
A filter
Against that which I am forced to see

I am not in or out
Black or white
I am live in TECHNICOLOR
Excited electrons
Ebbing and flowing
From the extremes of existence

I do not fit the pattern
Nor am I a predictable algorithm
Put your garbage in me
You will not get garbage out
I will turn and twist
Create while destroying
And shine your **** into my gold

I will thrive off of what is wrong with this world
And make your leavings better than you ever were

An Argument with Myself
(aka Identity Crisis)
by Ryan P. Kinney

I can’t do this anymore
I’m manic with kleptomaniacy issues
At 31, my body is beginning to betray my spirit
Age is catching up to me with a vengeance
I have a broken spine, a *** knee, carpal tunnel, and “significant” bone loss in my jaw
And…

Will you please shut the **** up?
You are a whiny little ****

Your back may be broken, but you’re not spineless
I’ve seen you stand straight and tall, even when it hurt
Nothing has ever stopped you from moving
A bad knee isn’t either
Bone loss in your jaw?
That won’t stop you from saying your piece

Who are you?

I’m that cocky super ego phallus replacement you drag around
…6 inches….
From the ground.

I know you
You’re that impulsiveness that gets me in trouble
The one that tells me to just do it
Stop thinking
The one that smashes my intuition and forethought like a raging Hulk
You are the Manic Hammer

I don’t like you very much

Nah, You love me
You just don’t know it yet

You know I hurt the one’s I love
I have more scars than ****** skin
Nothing of me is untainted anymore
I’m all alone

You are not alone
You are swimming in a sea of people

But there’s not a drop to drink

No one has everything you need
Drink of pieces of each person
And you will have more than you ever need.

I’ve lost so much
So many people
Two hearts
One is gone forever
The other,
I feel her slipping away

Yeah, but you held them both for awhile
It’s like the gods trying to hold the stars
Sometimes, even they get burned

Besides, you held onto the first for a long time
Even if she wanted it back
The other one is still playing tug of war with you
You’ll just have to pull harder

I’ve been used up, beaten, and ****** over pretty hard

Remember those times you were ****** hard.
Most of the time, you loved it

I don’t know who I am anymore
What I’m supposed to be
I am stuck,
stopped,
stagnant.

You are Ryan
That used to mean something in this **** town

I’m the one who’s kept you moving
Kept you alive
I kept you from pulling the trigger
Or digging in the knife
When Lisa left you in pieces
I put you back together

But, you hurt me as much as you help me

And you are as pathetic as you are courageous
You are stronger than you think
I should know,
I’m you

I have credit card debt greater than the value of both my cars
Because I’m addicted to stuff
Stuff stays, people leave
I hate the tedium of work
But can’t survive in our capitalist conglomerate without it

You work to get yourself to a better place
You’ll come back as many times as it takes
You’re not the only one dreaming of getting out of there
Just the only one with an escape plan

I cut my arms
(More like scratches
Because I’m too chicken **** to go any deeper)
Just to get attention
Hoping someone would notice and ask about my arms

No one did

Someone did.
But she is just as broken as you
And has no idea where to put your pieces
Or even to ask where they go

Sometimes, I just want to die

Really, Death?
That ******* has been on your heels since the day your mom popped you out
Are you really going to let him win that easily?
Yeah, he’ll catch you eventually
But you’ll give him the run of your life

And my family,
Jesus, they ****
One big curse of genetic white trash pretending to be middle class
Thanks Mom, for teaching me to steal
Thanks Dad, for giving up on yourself
Thanks Shawn…
Wait, Who the **** are you anyways?
Thanks for giving me no foundation for a family I can belong to, love, or even care about

Yeah, your family *****
You got me there
But they don’t define you
You do

Your mom taught you crime
But you learned how to survive on your own
Your Dad gave up on himself
But you learned to never give up
Your brother, well,
He’s the you you could be if you keep up all this *******, whining, and self-pity

And, don’t lie to yourself
You care about them
Even when they don’t
They are another piece of you
It does not matter if you like them
There is some home in that broken mess
No matter how bad you **** up
They will never judge you
They’ve done worse

As for a family you can belong to, love, and care about
You have a son

I have no idea what to do with a kid
I’m still a kid, aren’t I?

Nope, you aged,
Whether you like it or not

I don’t want to grow up

You don’t have to
Not entirely
But you do have to be a man

How?

You’ll figure it
The same way you always do.
Trial and error

I’ve been fighting this for so long
Alone
I can’t anymore
I have nothing left to fight with

You have them
You are not alone anymore
Ask them for help
You’re going to have to trust

I don’t know if I can do that
I’ve never done that
I don’t even trust you,
Myself

She loves you because she loves your son
She loves that piece of your combined hearts
Trust in that.
Have faith.

I don’t have that either

She’ll teach you

She’ll find you.
I need to protect her from you

You’re never fully yourself
You never let them meet me
It’s no wonder you always feel alone

You are a thief!

So are you

I don’t want to be you

I’m coming through no matter what
The more you wear this mask of innocence
The guiltier we both become

I don’t want to be a Kinney

You want to make that name mean something
You have that chance.
There’s a brand new Kinney

I’m scared
What if letting her know about us scares her away?
What if it costs me my son?

I’m here with you, always
She will be too
But only if she knows all of us
The piece you are giving her isn’t enough
It wasn’t enough for Lisa

You’re going to have to accept me
We have to work together
She has to know
You can’t taint her anymore with our lies

I…I…

No,
US.

Now, get the **** up
Be a man
There’s a little boy out there looking for one.

by Ryan P. Kinney and Dawn Richardson

Created from prompts by J.M. Romig, Dawn Richardson, and Ryan P. Kinney

She loves him like a fire,
Enveloping, holding, and caressing the wood,
While slowly consuming every part of him

Shaking off clothes like the leaves in autumn
Their bodies exposed,
Changing from a wan pallor
To a flushed crimson hue

Their bodies burn,
Breathe drifts like smoke into the skyline
The mountains **** their horizons

The dragon flies and dragonflies in the dusking night
The snow blanketed world deadens the sound of his beating heart
Her tide slowly recedes into him
The delicate wax of his heart melts under her fury
She swallows his cries

Babies sleep soundly


Created at the Winter Writing Workshop (Dec. 27, 2015),
HEYMAN! Productions

And Then There Was None
by Ryan Kinney

First they came for my things.
And I did not speak out.
Because I had so very little anyways.

Then they came for my mind.
And I did not speak out.
Because I had no thoughts to give.

Then they came for my heart.
And I did not speak out.
Because it was already broken.

Then they came for my body.
And I did not speak out.
Because it was already worn beyond use.

Then they came for my soul.
And I did not speak out.
Because I was empty inside.

Then they came for me.
And there
Was nothing left
For them to take.

Do not show your dog
On your dating profile pic
Not dating your dog

Sometimes, I think
I love coffee more than *****
It’s still there in the morning

Your love lights me up
Like a neon sign
But it seems, I’m just the moth

(by Douglas Aucoin and Ryan P. Kinney)
If I promise you the moon and the stars
Would you believe it?
I gave a woman this once.
She left me for her own universe.

What if I’m ****** up beyond repair
When the sky falls
And the world crumbles
And I wonder why I still get to wake up

You will just have to learn how to live broken
Make the flaws part of the story
And seal in the cracks with precious golden moments

My babysitter used to the sell the leftover bad parts of her **** to her classmates at Lake Catholic
Paying for her stash by separating the junk
And selling it to spoiled rich girls who didn't know better
She was only part of this upper crust because of her Dad's insurance settlement
When a security guard high on drugs beat him

It is this irony that runs through my head, when she exclaimed, "I thought you were gay," when she found out I was married.
When I still was.

Here comes this serial killer looking creep
Thinking he's here for just a little peep
He just a little whacked out manic
Energy spurts come in an inconsistent panic
But I promise I'm an all right dude
Even though I act a little rude, but crude
I'm the leader who takes apart machines
Been my own man since I was fourteen
He's the maniac creator
Makes all the world his theater
In his head lives every world
Swirling around in a surrealist twirl
He's a trash picking racoon
Looking like a tin foil hat loon
Now here I go making another promise
I'm a monstrosity Frankenstein colossus
I build dreams out of your waste
Assembling beauty with a fever pitch haste
Don't ever doubt what I say
Even if it sounds preposterous and risque
I make some of the weirdest things
Meant to illicit grins from my deepest sins

Where I grew up
Everyone spent their Saturday's in bars
And Sundays in church
I spent weekend working the latter
And thoroughly avoiding the former
I weaved through them
Never feeling part of anyone
Merely taking what I needed from them
Yearning to earn enough
To get away
Get better
Get on
There are days I miss
the invisibility of being part of something
You were never part of
I never found my place
I built my own
And no one ever wanted to come in
I work my bar alone
And worship only myself

by J.M. Romig, Ryan P. Kinney, Morgann Blackwood, and Aaron Kasunic

Here’s to vices and virtues
To living without apologies or regrets
To breaking in order to heal

This old bird no longer caged
She gets to look on the other side of the bars this time
He gets another stumble in the hallway
A headfirst dive into a bottle of pills

Purple sharks and goats
That glow in the dark
Banana dimpled belugas
Swimming wildly asunder

Then I met God
The most beautiful of all my conquests
I knew no one else would quite match up to her

Her hair in the porch light
Looked like the thunder god had an ******

Her face still cannot be manifest
This woman,
The most beautiful thing I’ve seen
She lingers in my conscious
And has a major role to play in what will be my swan song

If experience has taught me anything (an unlikely assumption)
It is that if a woman ever tells you
-Straight up-
That she is a *****
She is not lying

There are exceptions to that rule
As I myself am quite exceptional

Pretty and Ugly words on paper
The Love Letter
Dear John Letter
Suicide Letter

The smile
The tears
That little scowl

You

Every little piece
Every scar
On your arms
In your heart
The ones I see in your eyes

Assembled by Ryan P. Kinney
From quotes taken from works at poetry readings by Bronte Billings, Josh Romig, Micheal Billings, Jack McGuane, Elise Panehal, Rosemarie Iwasa, Adam Brodsky
Additional original content by Ryan P. Kinney

Being broken makes the girl do something good
She loves the challenge of impossible tasks
Detachment comes easier to a drunk
The lostness of the found, the blindness of the seeing, the spirituality of the atheist, the silence of the spoken
She doesn't matter
Nothing she creates matters
Nothing matters
The nothing is electric…
You are caterpillar now
One day you will be a beautiful butterfly
Her stark lines are completely naked now
Humans are also stardust
Which means we are golden

I wore a blood colored effigy of her
Straddled between that *****’s legs
Wrapped around my neck
While she choked the life out of me
- I broke

I wrapped myself in my sins
And flaunted them
As a badge of survival

From a smoking wedding bouquet
I blew my brains into the ether
And let the fumes ooze into my veins
Filling me with the vitriol of an alcoholic madman
Forced sober to reality his whole life

The poison danced and cascaded into the water
In a downward feral magnetic spiral of broken promises
My pieces littered the lawn in a prismatic shower

Yeah, my work here was done
And I was going out with the combustion impact of a flare gun hitting five gallons of gas over shattered cinder blocks
I doubled her wager
With a halogen explosion of razor sharp glass.
I bet on her broken promise with an even bigger lie-

I AM OK.

The remember the child
The shy mama’s boy in glasses
Now, with your tattoos, and curses, and **** burns
Scarred by the sins of rage’s past

You are what I could have become
I love you, my brother
But I hate the monster you’ve become
The one I feel inside me when I look at you

How much I could be like you

This waste ****** me off
Squandering your gifts
God ******, You could be so much more than this broken child
Whose cracks bleed the same blood
And shards reflect the same glow
So different,
Yet so much like me
That it infuriates me

And that wife, you ungrateful *******
Who tolerates, worships you
Brushes off your crumbs
You treat her like ****
And **** on her love
While I worshiped mine
And she betrayed my heart
Choosing money over love

I am really tired of having to prove that I am the good son
Brother
by Ryan P. Kinney

The remember the child
The shy mama’s boy in glasses
Now, with your tattoos, and curses, and **** burns
Scarred by the sins of rage’s past

You are what I could have become
I love you, my brother
But I hate the monster you’ve become
The one I feel inside me when I look at you

How much I could be like you

This waste ****** me off
Squandering your gifts
God ******, You could be so much more than this broken child
Whose cracks bleed the same blood
And shards reflect the same glow
So different,
Yet so much like me
That it infuriates me

And that wife, you ungrateful *******
Who tolerates, worships you
Brushes off your crumbs
You treat her like ****
And **** on her love
While I worshipped mine
And she betrayed my heart
Choosing money over love

I am really tired of having to prove that I am the good son

by Ryan P. Kinney

We fought, we thought.
We lived, we loved.

Anger/stupidity
Cold numb void
Unthinking, emotionless machine

I thought about you
And it made me cry

You wear a blissful grin
Like angels falling
My ancient wall of flowers
I see it in the darkness of your eyes

You got high on my experiences
Took my stories into your body
You loved it

Her shriek of terror, screaming
I’m worthless
How could I do this to her?

The tears stream
The blood flows from my ****
Diluted with stale coffee and ****** cigarettes

The heartbreaks, the beatings,
The suicidal thoughts
I made you paranoid, cynical, and distrusting

I wished you could be near me
I cursed the world,
I wished everything could be wonderful
No interferences

A cold gruesome memory
I don’t deserve her
Skin still embedded in glass
I see my twisted reflection
The monster I’ve become

I sealed my fate
Inside
life's last chapter,
a book so elegantly bound

No matter how you try to purge
You’ll never be rid of this poison
The world blinds, confuses, and muffles
My heart is often bound and gagged
So much like you

I went out to the bridge
Clutching my Bible
Never even opened it
And a letter from you,
Plunged into the river,
Still crying
No one was there
No angels to care

Just die…

We lied

When you’re older, you can make your own choices
So many choices you wish you didn’t have to make

Like choosing between dinner or gas in your car
The toy for your child or a pair of shoes without holes
Between a stiff drink or delving the unimaginable depths of your loneliness

As a kid they sell you the fiction
Adulthood means freedom
Freedom of choice
They never tell you it’s mostly picking the lesser of constant bad situations
You get to vote
Which criminal is the lesser of two evils?

Choose:
-Between getting proper medical care or paying the rent
-Between taking the time to get better or going to work sick to pay for the medicine
-A quick ****** or real love
As modern adults
We are slaves to our choices

So many choices you get to make when you’re older
Can the car repairs wait? My health? My sanity?
Which coffin do you pick out for your dad?
When do you pick out your own?

I can’t lie to my son
When you’re older you don’t get to make your own choices
They make you


Inspired by Dan Rourke

Christmas Presents
by Ryan Kinney

For those I know and know I have some special gifts. Call it poetic materialism, or even selfish regifting.
I will give you what you don't want and take what I want, because such is the spirit of the season.

For my mother...
This old bird no longer caged, she gets to look on the other side of the bars this time.
Her freedom, so precious, that she will be as far removed from those who incarcerate her soul as possible.

Dad...
He gets another stumble in the hallway.
A head first dive into a bottle of pills.

My brother...
He gets a brief reprieve from alcoholic rage and abandonment issues.
His fiancé gets to bear the weight of these sins. It's a package bought with her dignity and sold with her respect.

The half-brother...
He gets mothered and smothered,
coddled and cooed,
held and supported, so much...
That he's unable to stand on his own.

My half sister...
She gets ___.
It's not like I'd know what to get her.

Grandma...
She reaps what she has sown in the cold, barren winter of her life.
Her years of hate finally cashed in
for an empty house.
The gift receipt bears the inscription,
"Wish you were here, (but not really)."

The murderous, ****** cousin...
He gets cold, prison justice.
A gouged eye for an eye.

The ******-addict cousin...
She gets undeserved sympathy..
As she drops another burden on this family.
Her seven deadly sins, rosy cheeked and innocent, get to ask,
"Where's Mommy?"

What of the countless other cousins, aunts, and uncles...
They get silent nothings.
A commodity given with the sentiment of fruitcake.
Every year I get it,
I give it away.


Now let's move on from family,
As they have moved on from me.

The ex-wife gets to unwrap another year of her inner rot.
It's a flamboyantly gorgeous package,
adorned with crisp $100 bills.
What about the outlaws?
Who used to be the "in" thing.
They get my absence.
Another alien transmission expelled from their bubble.

And how about my best friend...
Well, him, I like.
He gets new family, new hope, and new dreams.
His son...
gets life, our collective legacy.
A promise of future triumphs and heartaches.
His fiancée...
She gets domestic bliss.
All the joys of diapers and laundry and feedings.
These gifts,
paid for with each of her child's smiles.

The techie, my shy secret agent...
She gets her first year as Mrs...
And unemployment.
But, at least they are together in their poverty.

Now, what does one get a Love Toy?
She gets all my unrequited love..
The bulk of my desperation and loneliness,
packaged as an ******.
It's an awfully cheap thing.

My gay friends...
They get an epic dance party,
The likes of which only those from the "other" side of the rainbow could throw.
While the mundane from the dark side hurtle their sticks and stones.

The pseudo-grandma...
She gets my respect and admiration.
And gives, always gives,
Wisdom.

What of my new college friends...
They get finals and stress and hunger and house fires and...
Kinship in the academic struggle.

Finally, Me...
What do I get?
Because that's all this is about.
You didn't think I'd give without expecting something in return?

Well...
I get to ***** about why I hate Christmas.

By Brittainy Kasunic
Assembled from works by Sheena Zilla and J.M. Romig

I left you
scrambled on the wall
naked for all to see

Even in this rare moment of content
He feels a wave of manic energy
On the horizon
Rushing toward him like a bullet train
And his muscles tense
In anticipation

“Good girl”
Shadow dropped the bone at my feet.
I picked it up and tossed it back into the endless grass
As it spun like boomerang in the air –

These relics, tokens of breath taken,
Remind me to keep in mind the person I will become.


Created at the Winter Writing Workshop (Dec. 27, 2015),
HEYMAN! Productions

By Ryan P. Kinney and Dawn Richardson

Assembled from works by Ryan P. Kinney

This one’s for those who have let me down
Disappointed me, failed me
Failed to live to their potential
This one’s for EVERYONE

We will be naked and bare
Ugly and beautiful
Out from under the covers
Out of control
And into the light

There will be no more hiding
Not from the rhetoric
Not from the self-righteousness
Not from the lies we tell ourselves

This one’s for every woman who didn’t love me
And for every one that ever did
This one’s for every person who has ever doubted and underestimated me
For those who ever thought my life should be a mirror of their journey
‘Cause theirs worked out SO well for them

Not from the us that never was
Not from our definitions of family or love

This one’s for me
For not living up to my own potential

This one’s for those who patronize my intelligence
But yet are so easily fooled into acceptance
With a pair of plastic black frames
This one’s for IRONY

Not from the guilt
Not from the pain
Or from the shame
Not from the anger
Or the happiness

This one’s for who I AM


Created at the Winter Writing Workshop (Dec. 27, 2015),
HEYMAN! Productions

Cross My Heart
by Ryan P. Kinney

He awoke that morning feeling more alive than he had in years.
The usual good morning kiss with his wife turned into more.
She could see that old youthful magic in his eyes,
The kind that had outlasted his wrinkled, scarred face.

They made love like nothing had ever mattered.
He would be late to work this morning.
It was worth it.

As she made breakfast,
Humming that song he had not heard since their wedding
He caught sight of her curves,
Slyly slipping in and out of the folds of her robe
He remembered how much he loved that woman in his kitchen
And briefly considered an encore performance

He heard a door swing open
Creaking sharply under years of abuse
Tiny feet came thundering down the stairs

“How does such a little person step so loudly?”
“Dad!”
He turned,
Just in time to duck a Nerf dart sailing past his cheek

His son gave him a mischievous grin
And his wife rolled her eyes
As he reached under the table and pulled out his blaster
Launching three darts into his son’s forehead before he could raise his

His son flopped to the floor
“You got me. I’m dead.”
The cat walked over and licked his forehead
“Alright, I guess I’m alive,”
“The kitty gave me one of his lives.”
His son laughed and bounded into his seat, just as his wife handed him his coffee.

His first sip was like no other before.
If morning *** could be coffee,
That would be what he just stuck in his mouth.

She handed him a plate of eggs and potatoes
And a bowl of cereal to their son,
Kissing him on the forehead as she did
“Ewww, Mom!”

He had long since taught her the virtues of a good breakfast
Though she only ever ate a bagel
She was always happy to send him off to work with a full belly
Even more happy to send him off with more today
Even the eggs and potatoes tasted special
Like a little extra love had gone into them

“Love tastes like eggs and potatoes…”
He trailed off, biting into an empty fork.
His plate was empty.
He had devoured the entire meal while musing over silly thoughts.

His wife shot him a “job well done” grin
Then leaned in to kiss him
“You guys are weird,” their son said,
As he pulled out his chair,
Placed his bowl in the sink,
And went skipping upstairs

“He actually remembered to put his dishes in the sink,” said his wife.
He got up, and threw his arms around his wife,
Kissing the back of her neck
As he reached into her robe
She giggled, and handed him his lunch.
“Go to work,” she said.

He grabbed his lunch,
Yelled up the stairs,
And walked out the door

The car started on the first turn this morning.
He eased it into gear
And it glided gently out of the driveway.
“That’s much better.”

He couldn’t get the grin off his face as he drove
The sun had risen to greet him in a kaleidoscope of hues
He began picking out shapes in the color kissed clouds

There was a light breeze in the air
A calm comfortable spirit blew around him
With just a hint of the flavor of the impending autumn
Yet still not betraying the richness of summer

His eyes snapped out of the daydream
“Today is way too good to be wasted at work.”

He pulled out his phone and dialed the number he no longer had to look at the keypad for.
“Hello,” his wife answered”
“Honey, call our son into school. We’re doing something today.”
She paused for a minute and he expected a recrimination.
Instead, she just replied, “Something? Like what?”

“How about the beach?”
“We’ve lived two miles from the lake for years and have only gone twice”
“It’s time we stopped wasting what’s been given to us”

She paused again, then, “Ok.”

“Oh, and wear the bikini.”

She sighed, “That was not meant for outside the bedroom.”

“It’s Monday. Everyone else foolish enough to not call off are at work.”
“No one will see, except us.”
“Meet me there.”
He hung up before she has a chance to object.

An hour later, he was there.
He slammed the car door with a reassuring thud
Her car was here, but empty.
“They must already be in the sand.”
He took to the concrete path.

As he walked, toads hopped out of his way
Butterflies danced to a tune none, but they could hear around his head.
His every step sent a cascade of grasshoppers in every direction.

He finally reached the sand and kicked off his work boots into the weeds.
He scanned down the beach and picked out the outline of two people,
His wife and son.
As he thought, no one else was here.

His wife had already removed the tank top and shorts she’d normally hide behind.
She was wearing the red bikini he had gotten her for their last anniversary
Her body showed all the marks and scars of age, wisdom, and childbirth.
He couldn’t have loved any of those marks any more.
She had earned each one.

She caught sight of him and smiled that beautiful smile,
Then tapped their son on his shoulder,
Already engrossed in a sand castle
He looked up and took off running,
Barreling into his father.

The rest of the day whisked away in the blur of one who forgets that time is a measure for events we have to think about.
He and his wife worked muscles long past functioning properly.
He swam in his work uniform and when it became too heavy,
He cast it onto the beach and swam in his underwear.

While his wife prepared lunch,
His son and he built a sand castle taller than either of them
It was more like a mound than any recognizable structure,
But it was magnificent.

When the next wave came in and took half of the empire with it
They just laughed
And jumped in to finish the job

Lunch was PBnJ, a necessity for any day spent playing hooky.
They tasted of forgotten memories and a sun-warmed nostalgia,
That up until now had only left a bitter taste in his mouth

Lunch was quick,
As both boys hurried back to the water
Making sure to share plenty with Mom.

After a few hours, the sun began to sag
And their son began to droop on this father’s shoulder
He carried him back to the concrete path,
All three with irreplaceable smiles on their faces

Their son was nearly asleep before they came across the first toad
This time they just sat and watched.
The grasshoppers remained still and not a butterfly stirred.
Everyone sat silent in their seats,
Transfixed by the building chorus of crickets,
The melody growing richer as the sun sank into dusk

By the time they reached the parking lot, the frogs had added their amorous harmony.
All of nature had serenaded their son to sleep as they strolled.

He placed him in his wife’s car gently.
He looked at her and pulled her close,
His hands groping under the bikini.
She pulled away.
“I’ll see you at home,” she said.

“I love you,” he paused, “…both,” looking at his son.

She got in the car, started, and drove out of the parking lot.
He stayed there, watching her taillights fade into a magenta-orange curtain trailing the horizon.
Just before she vanished from sight, he caught her eyes watching him in the rearview mirror.
He waved,
Casually,
Slowly,
Until she was gone.

He got back in his car and closed the door.
The reddening sun was half gone
A deep blue was inching in slowly, closing around the falling orb
Pink, blue, purple, green
Every color of life was lavishly splattered across the sky,
As if color and beauty were so cheap that it could spilled everywhere,
Without a care.

The sunset was the same it was 20 years ago.
The day he left his parents
As he was driving the last load to his first taste of adult freedom,
He had stopped at this park
To bid farewell to the boy who spent so much time here.

Here he was again
Back with a new boy to give to the park.
The sunset that sent him to become a man was back to greet him once again.

“Today was perfect,” he said, as he slipped on his jacket.
“But, it’s time I woke up.”
He pulled a revolver from the jacket’s pocket
“I kept my promise.”
He pressed the muzzle to his chest.
“Cross my heart.............”

Dancing Without Invitation
Assembled by Rick O’Donnell, Eli Williams, Josh Romig, Danielle Romig, Kevin F. Smith, Casey Kizior
From works by Lennart Lundh, Gabriella Ercolani, Mark Fleming, Ryan P. Kinney

It’s lurking, not surprisingly, out of sight,
and even a quick turn of the head won’t suffice
to bring it from the darkness into focus

This is how we lived:
Dancing without invitation
at a local food store grand opening.
It’s what we felt like.

I woke in the shower singing morning
You were disarrayed Again
from our evening love making
when I went to join you

Grant in me the chance
to brighten an otherwise monochromatic galaxy
by recreating your beauty in another

I write to the woman
whose curiosity is
a blooming flower
sugar
magnolia wrapped in
Ivory ribs,
that dances sporadic
with her splendid panting laughter

-------------------------------------------------------­---------
I think,
There I am Ryan.
I am better than anyone I have ever known.
As the clouds begin to part in my mighty presence,
I can see the only one I have ever truly known
Is myself…

Created at the Jigsaw Workshop at Cleveland Concoction 3/2/2019

These Days
by Ryan P. Kinney

I was a Victim of these days
You can’t say things like that these days
These days, they walked me out the door
Because an opinion means my son should suffer for my mistakes
These days intent does not matter
Because Words hurt
And we deal with them more militantly than the military
We treat words like weapons
And guns like toys
Words **** people
Not guns.


Back in the day
by Ryan P. Kinney

If it was back in the day
Maybe I would have gotten away with it
Maybe I could afford healthcare
And food
And shelter
To raise a son

Maybe I would be judged on the content of my heart,
Not the mistakes of my mouth

by Ryan P. Kinney and Aaron Shinkle

It began with a wail
“Bring the Hammer. Bring the Rage.”
And with a boom, smash,
A few cuts, bruises, burns, and scars,
We forged our lives

Together we were an alloy of absolute, disheveled chaos
A folded steel of unstoppable imperfections
Clean, because we knew how to get *****
Stronger, because of our magnificent flaws
Pure, because of our willingness to flaunt our impurities

Our emotions boiled to extremes
Represented as terrifying visages of paint, mud, blood, dye, and pieces of glass
Peppering our bodies as proof that we can feel
So real, so raw, so unlike the mundane, moderate identities we are forced to live
That no one passes without gawking in amazement and terror
Our mild manners are just masks for our superhuman madness

The rage comes and flows through us
Fills us
Finally with a conduit
An exit strategy
In the effigies of our commodified existence
They crack with the spider web of safety glass
Explode into splinters and shards
And trail across the sky in a dance of magnetic iron oxide

We are twisted and mangled and sick
Mangled into some image of another
Twisted in the rubber band tension just moments before it snaps
And sick of being told not to feel

We broke who we were to make who we will be
The endless shells of molds fractured
Shatters like our porcelain dreams
Their shards still present in our skin years later

We destroyed what held us back
Or held us in
The prisoners using their own shackles,
And bodies as weapons against their inanimate jailers

Like the flowers that bloom from the blood-soaked battlefield
Where the shattered pieces of glass become the strands of horse hair on an artist's brush,
Where the pigments of blood and paint are intertwined onto the canvas of a mad artist's carousel
of orchestrated mayhem.
The American Dream is a shattered amalgam of trading people for things
Experiences, for proof of them

We will clear away the rubble of ourselves
Move away from the pieces that hold us back
And forge ahead with the fury of an exploding gas tank

When the sun goes down
And the flames go up
We will finally break
The last dismantled icon of glass, plastic, electrons, and lies
This will be an end
There will be no more funeral processions
No more grave markers
We mourn our lives no longer
There will only be rebirth
A beautiful emotional breakdown
Where rage finally gives way to hope
Witness the fall of a man
A property, a thing
This will be our legacy of beautiful destruction
One last time
Then we will pick up the pieces
And build the rest of our lives

You *******
Aka D.H.
by Ryan P. Kinney

You have potential
You have talent
So much so that it ****** me off to see you self-justify your own apathy
To make excuses why you are afraid to face the world.
To hear you give another reason why you are superior to the world in which you cower from.

You are capable of all that I have achieved.
We are only temporally separated.

I see a weak and pathetic child
Terrified of the changing world around you.
And while you are hobbled in hiding from this brave new world
You fester pretention
And waste your abilities
Getting more disillusioned and bitter as the days pass.

The world is not what you want.
It is not what you perceive.
So you cry about it.
And then pout
Saying, “I’m too good for it anyways.”
What could be more childish?

You lash out at your friends.
Attack their ideas and dreams
Because you’re so insecure of your own.
You are an intellectual bully.
I welcome new ideas.
While you attack them.

I am sick of hearing about my ego
It’s huge. It’s raging and throbbing.
It’s not just a metaphor. It is my ****.
My ego appreciates the attention

But, like the child throwing a tantrum
That you claim I am
You got what you want
Here we are, paying attention to you
And reacting to your ego

So go ahead, criticize me from your ivory tower of decaying domestic and psychological material.
Trying to kick your own dirt into our minds.

And my house, Its achievement is just as admirable as my college degree.
It may be a thing, a material, but the knowledge I gained in building my temple of self-worship is just as valuable as that I earned in college.
It is a superficial material possession, but it’s also a symbol.
It represents my journey, with steps I have taken that you will never imagine in your life.
My house is an art project, not just a shrine to my obvious American consumerism

Yes, it is a thing.
But then, so are you.
And one is far more impressive than the other.
One has had more life in it that the other.

Yes, I have stuff.
And I do lord my stuff over you,
As an example of the actions I’ve put behind my words.
I’ve worked,
While you’ve failed your days away.

I am a child that really enjoys his toys.
You are one who really enjoys telling others what they should do with theirs.
Jealous that you have none of your own.
You covet what I have.
You want what I have, but lack the determination it takes to get it.

You try to belittle my accomplishments and possessions.
Because you have so little of your own.
Grow up.

Your air of undeserved pride?
You’ve accomplished little.
I’ve accomplished little,
But my little is in comparison to the totality of my drive and desire.
And your little is sadly,
Only quantitative.

I use abstracts and circular logic
Because all of our existence is built upon fallible logic,
Perceptions of imaginations.
Life is circular.
It all repeats and falls in on itself.
I am sorry that you cannot see that my logic is a recognition of the balance in chaos.
The repeatability of all existence.
This has all happened before.
It will happen again.
Enjoy it and reassemble the time worn constituents of thought and experience into a perception of newness for you.

And here I am lecturing again.
Because you have so much to learn.
I have so much to learn.
It is not I who is so obstinate to new ideas that I reject all others
Simply because I think I am better than them

I do not think I am above or below you.
We stand on even planes.
It is called Earth.
Perhaps you should come back down here.
Step off your cloud.
Which, as soon as you realize is imaginary,
You will tumble from.

Join us here
We have so much to teach you.
Knowledge for knowledge’s sake.
Art for art’s sake.
Without the labels.

Who’s really superior?
Certainly not me.
You unbelievable *******.
So self-absorbed

You underestimate the tricks I have taught you, but do not hesitate to use them for yourself.
You are complicit in the crime of intellectual thievery.
And those tricks I’ve taught you
Which you dismiss so haphazardly,
Are nothing less than the sum total of my experience
The result of bleeding for life
Treat this knowledge with the respect it deserves

If I’m so morally repugnant then why do you still associate with me.
Because you are just as selfish and self-serving as me.
You’re just a weaker, chronologically repressed troll version of me.
Ryan, without the *****.

You have so little to flex your ego with
Oh sure, you have the mouth, but it means little in the face of your inaction.
The weight of words can only be felt when thrown by some action.
Stop wasting your time being useless.

You did say something in all your accusations that rang true.
I do fear being forgotten.
One day. Maybe I will stop fearing time so much.
One day I will wake up and realize that while I was fighting time
I filled it.
I gave it value, each minute of it.
Until then,
Enjoy the ride
And quit *******.

Ego Storm
by Ryan P. Kinney

Do you see it coming?
There! On the horizon…
A selfish **** storm of pretension and superficiality.
It’s inevitable.
So why fight it.
Welcome to the Ego Storm.
----------------------------------------------------------­--------------------------------------------------

I say unto the non-believer.
I am Ryan.
You have never known one like me,
Nor will you ever

I burn, I shine,
I flash so bright.
With every color of the rainbow,
But I do not sparkle.

You can’t stop me,
Or help me.
I am a sickness.
I am average,
But, Oh so much more.
I NEED to be different.
No matter the cost.

My thoughts are perpetually incomplete,
Ever evolving,
Never to be understood.
Like an alchemist,
I will make the ridiculous a reality.
Anything is possible at any time for no reason at all
Hell, Even I don’t understand me.

I am constantly unsure of who I am
But always confident and cocky that I am.
I am an adult child,
Never fully grown,
And I refuse to mature.

I never control my emotions.
I channel them.
And express them with color
I bleed liquid color.

I attack everything with a sharp tongue and a soft heart,
Pushing boundaries and pushing buttons.
I am sorry,
But not really

I will turn everything into a *** joke,
Because life is one big sensual sense experience
It is meant to be felt,
Not thought.
Created,
Not forced.

I’m in love with a fantasy.
Obsessed with an ex,
Who dared to leave me.
Romance in a dream.
An unfulfilled, unrequited devotion to the imaginary

My memories are my scarlet letter,
A crimson “A” for *******.
Sure, I’m a bit of a *******.
Pain is preferable to feeling nothing,
Experience is superior to the void.

I’ve witnessed the birth of beauty
Where others only see trash
I’ve created it.
I’ve also watched it wither and die.

I survive on the decadence of our society.
Your **** is my sustenance.
I turn nothing into something.
Then give it sweet oblivion in the hell of my dreams.

I am plugged in,
But only on the original analog connection.
I prefer the nuisances that inconsistency provides,
And refuse to let the tech think for me.
It is a machine.
You control it.
It does not control you.

I befriend, commiserate, and comingle with the dredges of society
The downtrodden, broken, abused, freakish,
Overlooked and underappreciated,
Geeks and intolerated deviants.

I force the shy to rise up and speak out,
To slice the crippling fear of looking foolish.
To prove the biggest fool among us,
May be the most brilliant.

The unpopular are my cool.
I love the weak and pathetic,
Just like me.
Equality through adversity and diversity.

All of you are pieces in the art that is my life.
Some are darker,
Some are brighter.

I will get inside you,
Around you and through you.
I will **** that which pleases me,
And **** that which does not.
But nothing more than your mind,
The most brutal tenderness you have ever had forced on you.

I will swear with one hand on my “Bible,”
With the sweetest foul mouth you will ever hear.
I laugh at the stupid,
And weep at the unintelligent

I will force you to know me,
And force harder for you to know yourself
I will take your words,
Make them stronger than you ever could
I shall throw the full weight of my genius behind them.

I will question everything,
And make you question yourself.
I will annoy you with a thousand “y’s,”
And swear out every other vowel.

I will make you give till your hands bleed,
And on occasion your ******.
I will challenge you to succeed.

Your clock is ticking.
So do it,
Or do me.
Too many are lost.
Go find yourself.
Or go **** yourself.
-------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------------------
I think,
Therefore I am Ryan.
I am better than anyone I have ever known.
As the clouds begin to part in my mighty presence,
I can see the only one I have ever truly known
Is myself…

Anger/stupidity
Cold numb void
Unthinking, emotionless machine
Rage builds up. . .EXPLODE
Want to break, destroy, ****

The look of horror on her face snaps me back to reality
Her shriek of terror, screaming
I’m worthless
How could I do this to her?

Who am I?
Nothing, a monster
Bash my fist into a mirror
The twisted mangle web of glass mirrors my mind

Nothing, there’s no feeling left
The tears stream
The blood gushes from my ****

What did I do to her?
Can’t speak to her?
I deserve nothing
I die
No personality
Just cruelty

The mirror still hangs, shattered
A cold gruesome memory
I don’t deserve her
Skin still embedded in glass
I seen my twisted reflection
The monster I’ve become

Just die. . .

Free Kittens
by Ryan P. Kinney

Whenever I see one of those signs
Advertising cheap, easy love
I am reminded of my darkest hours
When I fed my addiction to affection
To a love, a life I could control.
To something that needed me.

Surely they’ll love me
And quell the devouring loneliness and disconnection

Like little furry ******
Without the ***.
Wrong kinda *****
Wrong kinda love

When I had a full harem
I discovered, there is such a thing as too many
They were infested with parasites and ailments
Without constant attention
They’d **** on and defile
My every possession

My childish and selfish delight
Turned into an overwhelming nightmare
I didn’t know how to handle them
I never did
Never her
Never myself

Each time I put one down
I’d see their scared faces
Pleading “Why don’t you love me?”
“Because,” I’d say, “She didn’t love me.”
“None of them do.”
“They won’t keep me.”
“I can’t keep you.”

Unable to understand why
As I snuffed the life out of each little creature

Pushed to the brink
They became souvenirs of desperation
If this horrifies you,
Then you are right.
It horrifies me too

I cared more for those cats than my grandmother that year
At her funeral, I said prayers for them
Her entire 77 years more worthless than several weeks with each cat
Grandma- Dead in my heart by her own callousness
The kittens-By my own hand for their innocence

I am gone
Gone to find myself
Gone to find someone else
Gone to find that they are the same person

I want to be lost
So that I can remember what it meant to be found
I want to lose the chains of my past
And return to them with nostalgia

I want to know if the grass is truly greener
And the water any more blue
I want to discover that there are shades I never perceived

I just want to go
So that I can always be exactly where I am

Assembled from works by Ryan P. Kinney
By Elandra Fritzsche with original content

There is a game I play
It is one I play all by myself
With a million other players
It is called Adulting
The game is simple
All you need to do is follow the rules
All you need to do is listen
All you need to do is
Grow up

Grow up
It is something people tell you to do all your life
Grow up and act your age
Even when you are supposed to still be a child
Grow up

At 14 I started playing the game
Partially convinced that growing up meant
Getting the hell away from my parents
And being absolutely certain that if I did not
One of us would be dead

For years I played the game
Earned my keep
Took a wife
Bought a house
A mortgage
An expanding weight line

I followed the rules
I played the game
I fixed my house
I worked hard
I did the things that married men should routinely do with their wives
I had grown up

But I wanted to be lost
The game was not as fun as I thought it would be
I wanted to remember what it was like to be found
But found within myself

They say that all rules are meant to be broken
And so breaking them is just what I did
Slowly
Quietly
Secretly
On weekends I smashed TV's
Torched Barbie dolls
I kept my toys in my closet
My comic books in heaps
I swept the remains of broken rules away
As to keep them hidden
For awhile

Then suddenly
I was gone
To find myself
Among the ashes
Of the rules I had broken
And burned to keep hidden
To find that the world covered in ashes
Was the world full of color that I knew before the game was played

I looked for a way out of the game
And so back to school I went
The toys came out of the closet
My comic books worn like bandanas
Hanging from my back pocket

But once again after the time had passed
They wanted me to play the game
To grow up
I had tried
It didn't work out very well

Give me my childhood
The freedom I had had before the game was played
Give me all the things that come with it
But please don't make me play

I do not follow the rules
I do not like them much
This is not a game I want to play
I lost the first round already
Do I have to play again?

Charity, you say
I should be grateful for a free meal
I earn a “living” wage
No longer a minimum wage peon
Thanks to my unpaid student debt
And yet, still
I eat from food banks

For my lunch break each day
No longer than 30 minutes
I watch others go out to eat
And I eat my PBnJ
That ****** congealed jelly falls mostly into the bag
And I decide it’s not worth the effort

Last night’s dinner:
Another cake or sugar-laden death note
Given graciously.
I just skipped dinner instead

Grateful, I should be
For a week’s worth of food
Only allowed to be rationed once a month

Variety is foreign to these faith-based organizations
Shelf life is king
Taste and nutrition are optional coincidences

Thanks to them I will never eat another raisin or can of tuna
I am sick of trying to make 2 lbs of ground turkey or a pack of hot dogs stretch two weeks
With 1 lb of rice

I’m grateful
I’m eating
My 5 year old is
Grateful all the way to my rising cholesterol, impending diabetes, and rotting teeth

I make too much for government sponsored insurance
And not enough to pay for what I need
I am the gap generation
Slammed into a stress walled coffin
Between homelessness and eternal devastating debt

Grateful
Because I am overweight and out of shape
Because I don’t look poor and starving
Because I “get” to sit all day behind a desk

All it took was 6 years of letting the government forever make me their indentured servant

Grateful,
That at least I’m not dead on the outside yet

Grow Up

Grow up!
People have been telling me this since I should’ve still been a boy
At 14, I got my first job,
Partially convinced that growing up meant get the hell away from my parents
And absolutely certain that if I didn’t
One of us would be dead

For 14 years, I played the adult game
Got the 9-5
(They never tell you that it’s rarely as convenient as 9am-5pm)
Earned my keep
Took a wife, a mortgage, and an expanding waistline

It became who I was
I worked hard
I fixed my house
I ****** my wife
(Well, as much as any married man should routinely do so)

But secretly, the boy in me cried out
On the weekends I smashed TVs
And torched Barbie dolls
I kept my toys in the closet
And my comic books in heaps

Then somewhere, my wife decided
The charade wasn’t enough
I wasn’t man enough
And

She was right

I got sick of the monotony of a large racist black man berating me
Treating me like one of his seven illegitimate children
I’d comment on the irony of the stereotype
But those same people screaming grow up
Would be quick to label me the racist
More than anything,
I got sick of being a man
I demanded my freedom
I wanted my childhood back

Back to school I went
The toys marched out of the closet
And the comic books were worn like bandanas protruding from my back pocket
(You know, before it was cool)

Four years in, and once again
They want me to grow up again
******, I tried that
Even gave it a go a few years ago
It didn’t work out so well

Give me a book,
An inspired teacher,
Something to play with,
And tell me to learn
I sure as **** will

But, the moment you want to pay me for that knowledge
Lock me down in your pay scale
I will lose all interest

Give me a task
Something with any ideal greater than monetary compensation
I will give you every bit of my broken and battle-hardened body
And, more importantly,
Every piece of the mind of a man trying to relearn what it meant to be a child

I’m 31 now
Just over the cusp of when “contemporary” wisdom tells you
You’re done being a kid
Hell, I even have a son of my own

Another semester is ending
And recess is being called in
I find myself in financial distress
With no other means of survival
Other than to return to wearing the man mask

All I want to do is learn,
And grow
Just not up

Mother, can you please tell me,
Do I really have to grow up?

Half Life
by Ryan P. Kinney

Welcome to the digital age.
Where man’s best friend is Internet ****
And a woman’s only friend is her *******.

We’ve traded a heartbeat for an electronic pulse.
Blips and bleeps in an imagined humanity.
Forgetting that living means leaving the house.
And that sandals and boxer shorts are not formal wear.

We live in the information age
Full disclosure is no longer optional
We are sharing information.
We are contributing to the death of the self.
Or are we finally mastering intelligence?

There is an epidemic of inaction
Entropied Progress
The mobius sloth slides down into its own gluttony
And I just want to have *** with someone who is still alive

Have you seen the latest episode of Walking Dead or Breaking Bad?
Have you looked in the mirror?
Reality shows?
Who’s reality?

We are social creatures
And social control is how you keep the pigs in their pen
Until it’s time to offer us up as sacrifice at the altar of decadence

We willingly give them our intelligence
Our spirit
For another video game
Another TV show
That promises a better reality
See it all in HD
While we dubstep to our doom
Up Jacob’s Ladder
Built out of the 15 minute prophets

Sell me another artificially derived addiction
Masquerading as sustenance
Trading them like baseball cards
Tell me how much I need it
Need you
Preach it with the fear of the unorthodox on Fox News
While everyone’s getting high on your life

Televangelist CEOs
Sell us the next salvation
The anarchists are screaming,
“Legalize it.”
And the stoners aren’t helping

The half-life of modernization guarantees that if enough of our individuality decays
There ceases to be anything worth calling human

Hammer
by Ryan P. Kinney

Picks up Hammer
Swings Hammer
This one’s for every woman who didn’t love me
And for every one that ever did
This one’s for every person who has ever doubted and underestimated me
For those who ever thought my life should be a mirror of their journey
‘Cause theirs worked out SO well for them
SMASH
This one’s for my Father,
Mother,
Brothers
My brother’s keeper,
Sins of the Father,
And inheritance of Mother’s malice
This one’s for every time I’ve had to prove I’m the GOOD son
SMASH
This one’s for the bigots,
Racists,
Hate-spewing monsters
For the ******* morons
This one’s for those who assume I’m gay
‘Cause that’s SUPPOSSED to matter
SMASH
This one’s for those who have passed their petty judgments
Based on the surface of my face
Or my visible scars
Or my hidden ones
This one’s for those who have called me freak
For those who judge me on who I was
Not who I AM
SMASH
This one’s for those who lack the ability to see in color and shades
Locked in their boring black and white senseless absolutes
There aren’t just gray areas
There are tints of every shade we a capable of perceiving
This one’s for the LITTLE people
SMASH
This one’s for those who patronize my intelligence
But yet are so easily fooled into acceptance
With a pair of plastic black frames
This one’s for IRONY
SMASH
This one’s for those who have let me down
Disappointed me, failed me
Failed to live to their potential
This one’s for EVERYONE
SMASH
This one’s for me
For not living up to my own potential
This one’s for who I AM
SMASH

And this one...
These tears...

Drops Hammer
Looks to the sky...

This one’s for my son

People say…
My heart needs protection
Save Me
From myself
I’m too fragile
Too shattered

I say…
Let it be broken
And mended
And broken and mended and broken and mended….
Until there is nothing left
But hard, tough scar tissue
A beautiful intricate spiderweb of past mistakes and triumphs
Of the ones who stayed awhile
And those who fled in terror

Make your heart a labyrinth
That only the right river will flow through
And the left would leave

The one who thought it was worth navigating each jagged corner,
Scaled each wall
Took that leap of faith

You don’t need protection
You need strength

By Ryan P. Kinney
A Jigsaw poem adapted from quotes taken at the 50th Anniversary Hessler Street Fair Poetry Competition Judging; Cleveland, OH 5/11/19

A snake crawls about his bleached skull.
Frosted night pales the moon.
(lets dive into his dreams. Will this dead man tell us his tales of madness and delight?)
Mysterious, smoky eyes look back at me.
The very breath of time
A deep breathe for those unafraid to leave the sun behind
It’s just a matter of time. We all fall down.
Quarterly tides that lift my spirit
The truth changes with the promise that nothing can ever remain the same.

Rhymes out of time
Where I can see the truth in each brush stroke.
What would I do with such knowledge, but to ask for more
There ain’t ever going to be a perfect audience
His book will never be bargain basement; overstock.
I’ll never live that long
Poetry isn’t produce
Almost nobody is looking to buy local.

He is part of the people who chose to be lost
Parents often struggle to teach their children how to choose.
Millennials are the forgotten ones
A generation that has no tolerance for *******
He figured it out long ago
He was a captain without a ship.
Burned the ship to save the crew

His tactics had not matured.
He wailed, “I want to feed my mind beauty.”
“I could eat up the kisses you lay on me each day.”
“Chocolate love can correct a lot of mistakes…”
“I need to eat healthier.”

The music rocks me with desolation
Microphone to inform underground
In the morning, still angry with power
I stop and ponder at what I thought was the immaculate conception.
Unshattered crystal can be torn between love me and love me not.
Anywhere is better than the empty side of your bed.

What is the consensus on nonabusive drunks?
The woman with medicine in her voice, she wanted to heal him
However, He was a dog not easily brought to heel.
The salt of the Earth tastes different than the kind Morton makes.

When standing in your sand I feel glass shards cutting into my feet.
Punctured with track marks from an older compass, lifting rose buds through the empty pores.
A life made from the finest threads of silk; gossamer quickly torn asunder.
I don’t want to die at the hands of someone else’s creation. I create my own life
Will she bet hers or mine?

They call me a murderer, but all I’ve killed is a lie.
Undeterred by my hacking
Cutting never worked.
They cut her open, replaced broken parts
She lived, in fact she thrived
While I will remain my shape.

Burial lands are for the living.
The largest human hole ever dug.
Where she could rust in piece with friends and we could finally let go.
There is holiness there in those subtle, dark places

Be bold she whispered, scribbled on the pages of her soul
Follow your wandering heart.

Each aware of the wings blooming ****** and wet; from the other’s shoulders
Flower crowns are essential.
Bathing in sweet feral rain
Pine sap running through his veins
Dining on nature’s primal fruits
While we lie among the roots

The change that never came
At least as a zombie I don't feel my mind rotting
Imagine ******* out bits of dark matter into an open sewer through the center of the city
Our baptism by fire, need not be theirs.

Original quotes from Ryan P. Kinney, Lori Ann Kusterbeck, Barbara Marie Minney, anitakeys, Lorianne Arwood, Audamatik, Jeremy Jusek, Ralph Pittman, Valentine Ventura,Casey Krysztofik, Kevin F. Smith, Kelly Hambly, Diane Ferri, Michael Ceraolo, Maeve Kroeger, Ariel Alexander Fiore, Hannah Gates, Georgia Reash, Eli Hawkins, Shivla Shikwana, Frank Thomas Rosen, Rob Smith, Tam Polzer, Elizabeth Burnette, Julie Ursem Marchand, Nancy Brady, Christine Donofrio, Cat Russell, Keith Allison, Sara Minges, Joan Perkins, Aubrey Crosbey, Tim Richards, Jill Lange, Ashley Pacholewski, Krystal Evans, John Burroughs, Renee Sanders, Azriel Johnson

At 3, I broke my leg
And again at 5.
This would cause my leg to be an inch shorter than the other the rest of my life.
7: My brother pushed me into a wall and cracked my skull
Somewhere near that same time, I shattered a pane a glass in my hands, requiring stitches
At 15, I thought it was smart to push a bag of broken beer bottles into a dumpster with my hand.

I set a car on fire hitting a deer at 70 mph, his antler coming inches from my lung
I fell asleep behind the wheel of my truck and totaled a mini van
I drove someone else’s truck off the road getting a new engine for the other
But it was better than the ice, the oncoming car, the gas main, or the fence post
I snapped the front axle of my rainbow Buick twice before I finally killed it
Each time, I walked away with just scratches

In 2006 I cracked 2 of my vertebrae taking a snow boarders jump with a sled
I sliced myself on metal tracks at one job
Even plastic containers have left their mark on me

I tore my ACL, trying to be stronger
(And because of that former leg injury)
And added a hernia appetizer

I earned carpal tunnel, trying to be brilliant
And just make more sense of all the broken

What hurt most were the 2 who wrecked my heart
Deeper and more scarred than any other pain

I am covered in little visible and invisible scars
The older I get, the more I collect,
The more stories I create

I did not slow with age
Just kept ramping up,
Making more as I give less ****
I am always littered with scratches, cuts, and bruises
Because I never stop long enough to worry about what damage I am causing

I’ve don’t bother with stitches anymore
I am held together with pure will and imagination
That old adage, “What happens when an unstoppable force meets and immovable object…”
I refuse to yield
Surrender is not the answer to that riddle

It’s to go around
I bypass
I imagine it doesn’t hurt
I find every other way

I’d rather keep going. I’d rather keep racking up battle damage
I go through my life with a sledgehammer
Knowing full well how many times it comes down on me

I am so very broken
I am always just barely holding it together
When all I want to do is fall apart
I keep putting the pieces back together
I am a maker
Filling in the holes with stories

Today, I walk with a lean, sometimes a limp
And ignore how often it hurts
My body is deformed and full of tally marks for every decision I have ever made

One day, my body will fail me for the last time
It will yield long before I do
All those cracks will finally show
And out of me will leak
All those stories
For everyone who helped me make them

I am scared!
Scared of this world

Robert Godwin Sr
Alyssa Elsman

How many more have to die?
By my kind,
By their kind,
Because they blame some other kind
What ever happened to just being
kind?

Daniel Parmertor, Russell King, Jr., Demetrius Hewlin

Where were you when the World Trade Center went down?
It’s something everyone alive then will always remember
Never Forget! was our brand motto for American Pride

Krystle Marie Campbell, Lü Lingzi, Martin William Richard, Sean A. Collier, Dennis Simmonds

And now, the death of another is so commonplace
That we forget what and where.
It’s no longer personal enough to register where in our lives that it struck us
Only note that another life has been struck down
Add another tally to the equation
And still it does not add up

Trayvon Martin
Tamir Rice
Samuel DuBose
Delrawn Small
Philando Castile
Terence Crutcher
Heather Heyer

We are completely desensitized
And decentralized
We keep ourselves disconnected
(because we just can’t absorb,
Take,
Process it all)
It’s not us
It’s not me
It’s somebody else
Somewhere else.
Until it is
Then we care
How much can we take, before we break

Cynthia Marie Graham Hurd, Susie Jackson, Ethel Lee Lance, Depayne Middleton Doctor, Clementa C. Pinckney, Tywanza Sanders, Daniel Simmons, Sharonda Coleman Singleton, Myra Thompson

The tragedy is the comedy
We laugh so we don’t cry
Sakia Gunn
Richie Phillips
Nireah Johnson, Brandie Coleman
Glenn Kopitske
Scotty Joe Weaver
Jason Gage
Michael Sandy
Sean William Kennedy
Duanna Johnson
Lawrence "Larry" King
Angie Zapata
Lateisha Green
****** August Provost, III
Mark Carson

I can’t say I’ve never thought of committing violence.
Hell, when my ex-wife cheated, it occurred to me
And I can’t say that I have never hit another
I’ve been a kid
My whole life is designed just to grow up
But, I’ve thought of killing myself far more often than the thought to harm anyone else have ever occurred to me
Because my problems are mine;
My fault,
And I am not seeking some scapegoat

Keenya Cook, Jerry Taylor, Million A. Woldemariam, Claudine Parker, Hong Im Ballenge, James Martin, James L. Buchanan, Premkumar Walekar, Sarah Ramos, Lori Ann Lewis-Rivera, Pascal Charlot, Dean Harold Meyers, Kenneth Bridges, Linda Franklin née Moore, Jeffrey Hopper, Conrad Johnson, 1 unnamed victim

I am not going to deny that being a white male hasn’t allowed me to sidestep a whole level of *******
One day, angry white males will be the minority
And we’ll have no one left to blame, but ourselves.
If we don’t **** everyone first
If we don’t **** ourselves first

Michael Arnold, Martin Bodrog, Arthur Daniels, Sylvia Frasier, Kathy Gaarde, John Roger Johnson, Mary Francis Knight, Frank Kohler, Vishnu Pandit, Kenneth Bernard Proctor, Gerald Read, Richard Michael Ridgell

Jonathan Blunk, Alexander J. Boik , Jesse Childress, Gordon Cowden,
Jessica Ghawi, John Larimer, Matt McQuinn, Micayla Medek, Veronica Moser Sullivan, Alex Sullivan, Alexander C. Teves, Rebecca Wingo

The earth has already decided that we are a plague upon it
Maybe climate change is the natural response to the abuse of our gifts

Nancy Lanza, Rachel D'Avino, Dawn Hochsprung, Anne Marie Murphy,
Lauren Rousseau, Mary Sherlach, Victoria Leigh Soto, Charlotte Bacon, Daniel Barden, Olivia Engel, Josephine Gay, Dylan Hockley, Madeleine Hsu, Catherine Hubbard, Chase Kowalski, Jesse Lewis, Ana Márquez Greene, James Mattioli, Grace McDonnell, Emilie Parker, Jack Pinto, Noah Pozner, Caroline Previdi, Jessica Rekos, Avielle Richman, Benjamin Wheeler, Allison Wyatt

What is this world going to teach my son?
That he’s better because of how he looks?
Or what I’ve taught him:
You make yourself better.

Jamie Bishop, Jocelyne Couture Nowak, Kevin Granata, Liviu Librescu,  P
G. V. Loganathan, Ross Alameddine, Brian Bluhm, Ryan Clark, Austin Cloyd, Daniel Perez Cueva, Matthew Gwaltney, Caitlin Hammaren, Jeremy Herbstritt, Rachael Hill, Emily Hilscher, Matthew La Porte, Jarrett Lane, Henry Lee, Partahi Lumbantoruan, Lauren McCain, Daniel O'Neil, Juan Ortiz, Minal Panchal, Erin Peterson, Michael Pohle Jr., Julia Pryde, Mary Karen Read, Reema Samaha, Waleed Shaalan, Leslie Sherman, Maxine Turner, Nicole White

I work as a data analyst
So, I ran the numbers
But, these are more than numbers
These are people: sons, daughters, sisters, brothers, mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, friends, lovers.

Stanley Almodovar III, Amanda Alvear, Oscar A. Aracena Montero, Rodolfo Ayala Ayala, Alejandro Barrios Martinez, Martin Benitez Torres, Antonio D. Brown, Darryl R. Burt II, Jonathan A. Camuy Vega, Angel L. Candelario Padro, Simon A. Carrillo Fernandez, Juan Chevez Martinez, Luis D. Conde, Cory J. Connell, Tevin E. Crosby, Franky J. DeJesus Velazquez, Deonka D. Drayton, Mercedez M. Flores, Juan R. Guerrero, Peter O. Gonzalez Cruz, Paul T. Henry, Frank Hernandez, Miguel A. Honorato, Javier Jorge Reyes, Jason B. Josaphat, Eddie J. Justice, Anthony L. Laureano Disla, Christopher A. Leinonen, Brenda L. Marquez McCool, Jean C. Mendez Perez, Akyra Monet Murray, Kimberly Morris, Jean C. Nives Rodriguez, Luis O. Ocasio Capo, Geraldo A. Ortiz Jimenez, Eric I. Ortiz Rivera, Joel Rayon Paniagua, Enrique L. Rios Jr., Juan P. Rivera Velazquez, Yilmary Rodriguez Solivan, Christopher J. Sanfeliz, Xavier E. Serrano Rosado, Gilberto R. Silva Menendez, Edward Sotomayor Jr., Shane E. Tomlinson, Leroy Valentin Fernandez, Luis S. Vielma, Luis D. Wilson Leon, Jerald A. Wright

I did research to try to find all the victims since I became abruptly aware 16 years ago
There are too many
I could not discover a single database that contained a comprehensive record
No one can keep track of it anymore
I know I’ve missed people
I know there are 1000’s of people now missing people
Even 1 was too much

Hannah Ahlers, Heather Alvarado, Dorene Anderson, Carrie Barnette, Jack Beaton, Steve Berger, Candice Bowers, Denise Salmon Burditus, Sandra Casey, Andrea Castilla, Denise Cohen, Austin Davis, Virginia Day Jr, Christiana Duarte, Stacee Etcheber, Brian Fraser, Keri Galvan,  Dana Gardner, Angela Gomez, Rocio Guillen Rocha, Charleston Hartfield,  Chris Hazencomb, Jennifer Irvine, Nicol Kimura, Jessica Klymchuk, Carly Kreibaum, Rhonda LeRocque, Victor Link, Jordan McIldoon, Kelsey Meadows, Calla Medig, James ‘Sonny’ Melton, Pati Mestas, Austin Meyer, Adrian Murfitt, Rachael Parker, Jennifer Parks, Carrie Parsons, Lisa Patterson,  John Phippen, Melissa Ramirez, Jordyn Rivera, Quinton Robbins, Cameron Robinson, Lisa Romero Muniz, Christopher Roybal, Brett Schwanbeck, Bailey Schweitzer, Laura Shipp, Erick Silva, Susan Smith, Tara Roe Smith, Brennan Stewart, Derrick ‘Bo’ Taylor, Neysa Tonks, Michelle Vo, Kurt Von Tillow, Bill Wolfe Jr.

and NOW I’ve run out of lines and time to read off all 2,977 people who died in 9-11
Isn’t that a tragedy?

Do it now
Keep going
Never stop (repeat)

**** the consequences
Don’t slow down
Live fully in every minute
Expect everyone else to
Hold them to impossible standards

So much to do
So many ideas
No time
Who sleeps anyways?

This energy builds and destructs
Explodes into my life in a rash of impulses and hurt feelings
My mouth ****** off more people
Get kicked out of another bar
Alienate another friend
Write more checks that bounce before the ink is dry

I am stuck in a prison of abstract ideas,
And overpowering emotions.
A random coagulation of quickly scrawled,
Half formed ideas
Spewing from unimaginable imaginary conversations
With people that never existed
Scribbled incoherently with no regard for structure or form.
Then reedit, again and again,
Until the nonsense is decipherable to normal people.

I am afraid of stopping
Of being too slow
Terrified of complacency

Get happy
Sad
Angry
Don’t give anyone a second to catch up
Moods change with each tick of the clock

ADHD…Nah.
I can focus
Hyper-focus, intently
So much so that I forget to eat, sleep, breathe
Forget that time and the world exists

Was this what Picasso was like
As he obsessed over a canvas
Or ******* as he whipped paint across the floor
Chain smoking his life through his fingertips
Casting the spent matches into the paint

I can’t stop once the adrenaline starts
My head is a toxic chemical soup
The only antidote is a massive rush of endorphins
If you catch what I mean

Here’s all this information
I’m going to keep bombarding you with it
Make something out of it
If I’m satisfied
Maybe I’ll stop
(I won’t)

by Divine, Kadie Good, Bambi Cruz, gimad@mail.com, Mar Del Sol

The protruding odor illuminated my existence.
A stench to verify that I was there.
Smell me. Smell me.
I have a scent. I do not lament.
I reek not of recompense.

I am scared and lonely
I am going to succeed
I am not lost
I am here

The sum of our world:
Candle flames and forest fire
Thailand and Belgium
Public and local
All of our experience
Your tears from afar
The red sunset of a lake
Erie and Huron
World War to some peace
The world around shaped me
Like rocks to the rain.

The soul stands in a loud mind
Trying to listen,
but the ideas are listless.
It wants to be something.

Blank, without definition
Trying to understand being –
But failing, with each whim
Nothing, Trying, Coping
Lost and Without.

Assembled by Eli Williams
From works by Eli Williams, Josh Romig, Lennart Lundh
Additional content from “There is a Light That Never Goes Out” by The Smiths

Want to see life
Take me out tonight
For a moment
Take me anywhere, I don’t care
I can’t seem to make
My heartbeat slow down
If time is liquid, like the oceans
Take me out tonight
Not much traffic on this path anymore
In my rearview mirror
And in the darkened underpass
I watch the boy
No longer even special
If I could go where they’re going
Where there’s music and there’s people
I don’t care, I don’t care
Take me out tonight
Take me anywhere, I don’t care

by Ryan P. Kinney and J.M. Romig

I am shards and reflections
Machinations and reactions
I am translucent pieces and parts
Assembled and disheveled

Spitting.
Clicking
Fingertips stumbling ever so awkwardly
Across the keyboard
Slightly stale leftover love
Making memories
Drift in...

My conscious lacks a separation between the human and the inert
Most sociopaths have a certain charm

I hurt

Cutting “help” into his arm

I hurt
Somebody please notice me
Understand, care
Without me having to spell it out for you
In blood drenched script

Don’t let me ignore you
Confront me
Make me see that I am not as alone as I feel
My memories are my scarlet letters

My body is a temple,
But nothing is sacred
I’m trying to scream for help
But there’s no room in my lungs
I’ve filled them with too much of the world’s poison

Assembled anonymously at Ingenuity Neighbor Nights July 15, 2021, Cleveland, OH

I will force you to know me,
And force you harder to know yourself

Gathering together
Dancing
Laughing
Loving
Is what it means to be truly human

I have rode, climbed, and conquered.
I have stood still.
I jumped in.
I have fallen and been defeated.

Hung over a toilet, the next day
Steve vows to change his ways

My feet ache.
My back aches.
My heart aches.
from this over time

The snow is over for the season, perhaps

When my Dad goes there will be no great inheritance
No money, no cars, no great property
Just some old t-shirts and shoes
That both me and my brother will fit
He gave us everything he had while he was alive
Until that was the last thing he had to give
My kid already has his inheritance
As my father did,
When I am gone, what I have given him will only be worth what we have given it.

Let me tell you the thing that keeps me up at night
I’m manic
So I have a constant stream of vivid thoughts running infinite channels through my head at all times
What I fear most
What I am forced to watch in my head daily
Is losing those I love
Of again being that scared, alone, desperate little boy
Of being exiled once again to that slow drip drip sound echoing off the empty room of my vast universal mental prison

Every single day
Automatically
I run scenarios of my son’s death through my head
Every parent worries about their child
Most are paranoid of such
I have it played before my eyes in realistic detail
I am forced to continually watch the most tragic moments of my life on a big screen in my head
None of which have ever happened

Everyday, a different death
Just once I wish it would be me
Why can’t I protect him?
From myself?
And once again I reaffirm
That his end, will be mine

I am so terrified that one day I am going to wake up and he won’t be there anymore.
That the only good thing about my life, will be gone.
And it will be my fault.

My son is my redemption.
Without him, I’m afraid I’d have to admit I’m just a terrible person.

I have to close my eyes
And repeat this mantra
“It’s not real.”
“It never happened.”
Am I real?
What is the dream?
What is reality?

What I fear the most?
That one day I won’t wake up

Let me tell you the thing that keeps me up at night
I’m manic
So I have a constant stream of vivid thoughts running infinite channels through my head at all times
What I fear most
What I am forced to watch in my head daily
Is losing those I love
Of again being that scared, alone, desperate little boy
Of being exiled once again to that slow drip drip sound echoing off the empty room of my vast universal mental prison

Every single day
Automatically
I run scenarios of my son’s death through my head
Every parent worries about their child
Most are paranoid of such
I have it played before my eyes in realistic detail
I am forced to continually watch the most tragic moments of my life on a big screen in my head
None of which have ever happened

Everyday, a different death
Just once I wish it would be me
Why can’t I protect him?
From myself?
And once again I reaffirm
That his end, will be mine

I have to close my eyes
And repeat this mantra
“It’s not real.”
“It never happened.”
Am I real?
What is the dream?
What is reality?

What I fear the most?
That one day I won’t wake up

inspired by Prison Terms by Diane Kendig

My mother was an inmate at Marysville Women’s Prison when I was born
(Now call the Ohio Reformatory for Women)
It would **** her off to know I’m telling you all this
But I will not live in her cage
She brought enough of those chains home with her
And beat me with them
Until I spit blood from my broken lip

But still, this jail baby bird will sing

I was sent to live with my grandparents
Nowadays, they don’t send the kids anywhere
They stay with their mothers in their cages
Even the babies have prisoner numbers
Born prisoners

My mother got out a year later
Together, my parents got me back
Although I never spent a day inside the reforming cage
I inherited the prison in my heart
My heredity legacy is to be forever trapped

The Jail Baby
Born in bars
I built my own prison

After my divorce
After another woman failed me
I failed her

I built my own dungeon
All that glitters is gold
And my glitter stuck to everything
I trapped myself in shiny baubles
And burned my life to glowing cinders of
White hot unredeemable rage

My catharsis came from feeling the burn
I ran circles in my cage
So I would never catch up with myself
Until I burned out

Slammed myself into the walls over and over again
And broke so many times
Even my pieces were dust
Just so I had a reason to keep rebuilding myself
I became addicted to the forced rebirth

Eventually, I accidently created my own key
Through some act of self-deprecating alchemy
The open says me password to
Finally let me tear down my walls
A reason to be free
A reason to not be safe
A reason to smash my bejeweled cage

The secret genesis codex
Says to me
“Daddy, it’s time to wake up.”
And my kingdom falls

Jigsaw
by J.M. Romig, Amanda Whitlock, and Ryan P. Kinney

The first time I watched a man die
It wasn’t a man anymore, they told me
Just like my mother wasn’t my mother anymore

I will never forget the wrong answer
And the empty hours
When the minute       hand was always longer

I often welcome sleepwalking through most of the week
In the few instances the machines malfunction
I curse being awakened

I don’t see how anyone
Can smoke at a time like this
When the air is so heavy
It’s like breathing cement

I’m in stressed and panicked misery
And I’m vomiting
Lots and lots of                              stuff
That stretches vast
And expands to eat up everything

The guilt of my sin
The heft of your innocence
Weighs heavily on my soul
As i drag you down with me

Her lit cigarette burns
So brightly from the porch
Against the darkness
It reminds me of a lighthouse
Or a bug zapper

And what is that moth doing there anyways?
People are trying to sleep

Assembled by Eli Williams
From works by Ryan P. Kinney, JM Romig

I am getting over you
I can feel bitterness and anger coming
The opposite of love is not hate

As I say this,
Feel this,
I destroy,
I create
I am an artist

There was nothing
you could do
There was no way you could
stop it

In my head, I wander back
through years of dusty memories
I’m supposed to go about my day.

But, I’m still beating my feet
Against the concrete floor

I’m still plodding on
One foot in front of the other
One step at a time
Each moment takes an eternity to feel

*SMASH
Body cold.
What am I always so ******* cold

Created at the Jigsaw Workshop at Cleveland Concoction 3/2/2019

Assembled by Casey Kizior
From works by Cee Williams, Lennart Lundh, Chuck Joy

I never really cared
for surprises

I would not have chosen need
or desire, or slamming doors
or clamoring up when all the world is silent

in the morning I spit blood
into the sink and rinse
and walk the dog and try to forget
about the things dreams bring

What the hell color were your eyes?

they love what is there
because it is there
to love

among the strengths
less well-developed strengths
among the consequences
more unfortunate consequences

Created at the Jigsaw Workshop at Cleveland Concoction 3/2/2019