The Place of My Torment

To most, you are a sanctuary
a treasured reflection of the past
They meander your streets
in the memories of their minds
Speak fondly of your Downtown
High School and rail yard
and long for the Good Ole Days
They’ve placed you on a pedestal
and you bask in the glory
of yesterday
But you hold secrets too —
Bullies ran rampant in your streets
from 5th grade ’til 12th
I was ensnared in their traps
I do not harvest fond memories
Mine were of fear and disgust:
lewd remarks from male classmates
the whispers behind my back
and the blatant cruelty of Class Night
Your bastard children carved me up
and left me to rot
No, there is no affection from me to you
you were just a torment
and now I am through

Exercise — Study of a Sidewalk

A concrete tongue lisps
a path between my house
and the road — licks
stalks of grass springing up
outside its grey mouth — laps
at rain puddles quenching thirst
on its way to the Big City

Exercise — Five Senses of a Coffee Cup

Sight: black, glossy, round,
Touch: curved, warm, sleek, hollow on top
Smell: french vanilla, French Silk coffee
Hear: silence
Taste: sweet, vanilla, coffee

—————————————————-

In our warm silence
you hold the mysteries
of my french vanilla day
Will it be curved and aromatic?
or will it be glossy and hollow?
I lean in to your French Silk roundness
and lift your blackness to my lips
drinking in your sweet coffee.
My day is set.

Ramblings of a Deranged Poet

I gather words, sling them
on cotton white, rearrange them
then mix them into vodka
and drink my death of them
I regurgitate whole verses
but what for? — my ramblings
lay buried on a dusty floor
You haven’t trespassed here
in decades — I’m all white-washed
drunken and deranged
a poet, no more, no less insane

Stung

You stung my heart today —
you leeched on to my chest
your globular body sloshed around
like an opaque jelly fish
and your tentacles pierced my flesh —
I didn’t even know you still cared