Sandra works the slots all day
Smoking cigarettes; taking free drinks
Feeding the bandits instead of her soul…
Knowing it's daylight, somewhere!
Ken throws craps; blackens the Jack
Winks sickly at the cocktail waitress
Imagines doing things way past his prime…
Knowing it's nighttime, somewhere!
Passing hours like their years
Bathed in sticky syrup distraction
Dismount stool, lurch; pin-***** pupils
They meet at the buffet; tepid, bland
As their vacation; their marriage
Mid-life shape shifting sand!

© pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – All rights reserved

whisper your name
until it is meaningless.
shatter yourself on the stones,
sweep it up,
and mold yourself whole again.

this is existing.
this is engraving your soul
on the walls of time.
this is learning to

fall

but

not

to

crash.

I didn't believe you existed in the first place
But when you did
I had the crippling fear that you would not want me
To me, beauty and happiness were always incomplete
I didn't believe that salt water could damage paper
But when it did
It was though my eyes were true to life
Speaking words of sorrow yearning for you

Life is a dream.


In dreams’ we exist...


For in dreams...


We sense
      We see
We hear
      We feel
We taste
      We smell
We fear
      We love
We lust
      We loathe
We triumph
      We fail
We fall
      We climb
We fight
      We laugh
We cry
      We try
We run
      We stop
We hit
      We hug
We bite
      We kiss
We sleep
      We rest
We sing
      We scream
We are hopeful
      We lose hope
We gasp
      We breathe
We hold it
      We cherish it
We hold tight
      We let go
We remember
      We forget
We live
      We die


And it is life...


It really is…


It is reality...


We exist...


In dreams...


Awake!


©pofacedpoetry (2018) – Billy Reynard-Bowness – All rights reserved

I consider existence an opportunity:
Think of the trillions upon trillions of would be humans denied life.
How is that I, a person so nondescript, could be afforded this opportunity?
How am I able to exist when so many others can't?

How is that I exist in this millisecond within the hour?
A millisecond between the stars and the monarchs.
Who would I be if I didn't exist right here?

Fleeting. That's how I would describe this.
I may live to be ninety or I may live just one more day.
It all feels the same.
But will I?

I'm just clamoring for one more day.
But why do I clamor?
Why do I clamor for another day of complacency?

I enjoy this opportunity that I have yet to truly fulfill.
It's a matter of when, and not if.
Who will I be when the reaper comes knocking at my door?
Will I be who I am now?
If so, what a waste of a precious opportunity.
Will I be something better?
Could I be?

you have cheated me—
and now i am going to skin you alive .
.

forgotten ,
i am desperate to be swallowed whole
as you look right through me
like a window,

in greens and grays...
i could be rotting,
d y i n g .
.

and i know you would still not see
me whole .
.
.

so ,
am i just a walking corpse
to you ?

my face
merely
unrecognizable flesh?

eyes like little pearls ,
the sky is pink and i can’t even cry ...
and still you are standing
t a l l .
            .
              .

but even invisible,
i know i can still hold a knife and
i can still know
rage.

and you can still pretend that i don’t exist ,
praying
that i never try to **** you.
.

break a toilet
mirror
and
look at it.

indifferent.

our love doesn’t exist.
but i can tell you about our love.

our love is like gold dust in a miner’s pan,
soft and glimmering, sparkes lost in the world,
thrown haphazardly across the sky.

our love is warm like a summer evening and gentle like the cool breeze you feel when you
fly on playground swings.

our love is that pent-up feeling before a rainstorm,
charged air and a sense of something to come.

our love is like the rainstorm,
soft and loud and enriching.
it’s in the air i breathe, and i’d breathe it all the time.

our love is like blueberries in a red wagon
-aesthetic, cold and sweet.
i taste every time i encounter you.

our love is the curious look on girl’s face,
awkward and longing to know,
to accept this feeling.

the feeling that doesn’t exist.