Monday Poem: Unbelievable
Once, Johnny screamed that he was stuck down in a well-beyond-healthy relationship with a young blond teacher. The authorities that heard saw straight to him then through him and laughed. “It’s not a man’s problem, and would actually be a joy for any smart boy properly oriented toward maturity.” Bookish types were apparently well-known for their prowess in spinning tales about wolves and role-reversals. Probable truth: Johnny acts out in class, is punished, then makes a rash decision to get back at his punisher. If only he’d admit to his real problem. “When you find a Read more…
Cold Coffee
Intending only to drop off a story sobbed dry of more than memories, I arrived at evening, and arose to leave on the dawn of erased promises of freedom. That’s the sum of several one-act plays under the heading of “Adultery,” the reviews of which, of course, led to divorce, separating me from a son, twelve years young and already delving into the worship of dust, the past. Our recent ritual, every Saturday, starting at noon: A repast of bread and blood, semi-relaxed exchanges, reposing questions that ask about regrets, and whether I should have let the woman with periwinkle Read more…
Gaming the Names
Strange language: You always say “blame,” but it never ends with “me.” Mélange of names untimely played during our faceless moments of intimacy, lacing traces of previous relationships— If I’m not bothered by the fact she was fathered by another man, then why should you be by my not-yet-committed act of naming her after one of my estranged ladyfriends? “I’d rather let her die,” I believe, is a rather extreme reply. Didn’t I offer to pay, care for the baby as my own? It’s silly to argue over a medley of letters, pretending a certain combination could turn out to Read more…
Think Blank
We are weak echoes, made flesh, from a Ghost’s last shouted wish. Sheryl clearly guessed life’s meaning as this answer to another query gassed through her on a hazy Monday morning. With intuitively-gathered and well-sharpened fun facts, she could easily puncture boyfriend Ted’s toytime theory: We’re just forgotten playthings of a Child who grew up to be a blind and senile Watchmaker which takes a feeble, febrile idea and kids it with white nights, red clouds, pink noises— distracting effects to make it seem wonderfully original. A know-it-all who knows everything that sits on the level swinging just above “Nothing,” Read more…
Invitation to Overse/InterVerse
No new material this week (for days I’ve been trying to complete a poem and thus far it has defeated me), but in honor of Saint Valentine’s Day, I invite you to check out the poems here.
^