Hanging out.
Hanging out.

Listening to syncopated

Stratagems from diagrams

Of a successful junkie

Now lost in

A funhouse mirror maze

Not too unfamiliar

To those with a different

Kind of addiction.

Whispers echo like

Claps of thunder that

Startle the deaf,

Origins known but ignored

By arrogant corpses

Who are passed over

By buzzards with upturned

Beaks, too proud, but not full.

Something inside is still alive

And quick to bury

And clean to make room

For a second coming of some

Nature or another

That appears a bit more haggard

Than previous incarnations

But infinitely wiser.

Impudent, yet not youthful,

Striking forward with

Pickaxe into existential mines

That produce coal that

Cannot burn,

Wasting what precious time

He has that could be distilled

And wasted some other way.

Composed 10/03/2012

Author’s Note: I’m not sure what inspired this one, to be honest. I think it had to do with watching my students, or the children in my city in general. Early Halloween inspiration, perhaps?

Previous Posts

Unexpected Visitors (Prose)

Access (Poetry)

Next Posts

35 Years of Mining in Erdenet (Prose)

Outside it is Raining (Poetry)


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