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Ben Jul 2017
On the scorched Queen's sidewalk
I pass seemingly aimless people like myself
I am wearing shorts and leather sandals
They wear backpacks and pants
Flannel shirts and earrings
Sneakers and baseball caps

They all seem to have a destination
But I'd like to think that they don't
That none of us do
We are all Wednesday's mid-morning nomads
Looking for
A dollar for our empty hands
A bench in the shade
A place to rest our bags and shoulders
A place to remove our caps and wipe our foreheads
Complaining of wandering in the heat
Ben May 2017
Put another record on
While I pour another glass
And fill that clouded
Empty expanse
With a nice amber
Hue and we can talk
About god and music
Until the sun comes up
But no song or god
Will match the tangerine sun's
Corona as we fall asleep in the
Night's dew
Put more metal on
Put more Bowie on
Put more classical on
Put more punk
More hip hop
More Wu Tang
More Big L
More pop
More hair metal
More classic rock

More who gives a ****

My teeth are numb against my lips
And everything sounds good
A proposition
A song
A liquid taking up empty space

Just keep me here
Next to you
The rest of the world looking
Up or down

It didn't matter then
And it doesn't matter now

Shhhhh
Let the carpet slip from under my feet
Let the wall pat my back like an appreciative friend
Let the stairs seem long and winding
Shhhhh
Let it all be caught up in the back of your throat
Sore and raw
Keep it away from those you can
And those you can't

Wake up with the regret of the morning
Spilled across your face in
Buttery swaths
Drink deep the pain of happiness
Tasting ethanol on your breath
Like a can of unmixed paint
Ben May 2017
There is no torture
As great as being a man
At a dress fitting
Ben May 2017
The floors are always too clean
So many feet and not a scuff anywhere
And it's too hot
From the crowds and the heat
Still cranked up in summer

All the store displays look the same
Ridiculously dressed mannequins and
A bunch of prepubecents
Cluttering around the entrance
Or worse
Pubescents spending their parent's money
To look like the mannequins

There is nothing of value on any
Of the three floors
Yet it's all marked up at a premium

I am no different
My eyes jump from window to window
Face to face
My mind working over time to take it all in
In my confusion maybe I'll start
Handing out my credit card
"Give me three of those"
"Six of these"
"As much of this as I can afford and then some"
"Thank you, thank you, thank you"

We can all go home mannequins
Faceless and frozen
We won't scuff the floors
Or crowd the stores
Just remain on display
A cheap plastic statue
Ben May 2017
You know, it's strange
How you can be aware of your
Own mortality
And it is a weightless thing
A breeze through an open window
That slams a door unexpectedly
And we all laugh

But how sometimes it can settle
Solidly in your lap like a kitten with black fur
Or a wounded bird with ****** breast and bent wing
Making itself known
Corporealizing into a barnacle on the brain
Or in the valves of your heart
Giving itself gravity

It hovers over you the day you're born
A raincloud filled with paint thinner
Stripping your layers away
As all the minutes that won't come back
Seep between the cracks and down drains

It's also strange
That this feral frailty chooses to expose itself
Either in your happiest moments
When joy swells in your guts like an inflating balloon
Or in the quietest
At 2:03 am
When the fan is running and the clock
Slaves away methodically on the far wall

Regardless
It's there
It will always be there
Whether you want it to or not
So let the kitten lie
Ring the wounded birds neck
And
Hold out your arms when the cloud belches
Its preemptive warning

The rain will fall
So will we.
Ben May 2017
I woke up late this morning
It took me awhile to get out of bed
And when I did
I contortioned my body at odd angles
To squeeze all the sleep out of my bones

I looked out on the backyard as I peed
And saw two cardinals hopping around
Bright splotches of red in the overgrown grass
They stood facing each other chirping loudly
I couldn't tell for what until I saw
The female, brown and plain, standing by
On the banister of the deck
Watching the standoff

One of the red males fluttered up next to her
And she took off, not satisfied
The one still in the grass took off madly after her
The one on the banister galloped its length before taking off
Like a rolling lit firecracker
Its fuse too long

They both flew towards the house
Out of view
I scurried down stairs
Mildly overweight, hair sticking up at odd angles
Like a ball of broken glass
Thundering down the steps
The most ungraceful of all creation
Lumbering and over excited

When I got the back window
All three of the cardinals were in a wet clump
Of purple flowers that had opened themselves
To the scant sunlight of an overcast day
The female jumping and chirping excitedly
The two males weaving and bobbing in and out
Of the flowering bush, a pair of dueling sowing needles
Trying to knit the song of success

And then they saw me
My shirt an unnaturally bright electric blue
My face pressed stupidly to the glass
My grin unnatural and dreamy
As I watched this common display
That is still dazzling to me as I think about it
And they all flew off at once
To settle their matters elsewhere
Ben Mar 2017
Hammocked on two beanbags
With a glass of cold beer
And a magazine
Splayed across my lap
The silence in the apartment
Making my ears ring
Too many local metal shows
And shooting guns without
Ears on
So now a phantom
Traces a musical triangle in my ear
Always

Just as well
Silence
True silence
Is supposed to drive people
Crazy
And I don't need
Anymore of that

My girlfriend and her roommates
Will be heading back from
Work soon on the subway cars that
Constantly hold the stale smell of
People

"This is nice"
I say outloud
To no one  
And by acknowledging
The moment so I have
Adulterated it

Existential crisis aside  
This is nice
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