I lie awake at night scratching my chest until I hit battered rib I believe there is a secret behind my solar plexus my fingernails know how to find it after the sun goes down It is a curious thing, to be alive in the dark, itching, forever itching, searching for some treasure buried beyond white wet bone
Author: jdoublep
Haiku for a Cyclical
<--to thoughts about time: how it moves, how it loops, how it leads one back-->
Buoyancy
Floating down The River of Darkness Floating down The River of Night Floating down The River of Nothing Got a feeling Something ain’t right Floating down The River of Sorrow Floating down The River Gone Black Floating down The River of Goodbyes Don’t know when I’ll be floating back
2 Haiku for Anti-Common Sense
An anti-vaccine conspiracy is leading the anti- to mask up Human behavior makes no sense, driven by fear; more rare, by love
Remind Me
In the early hours, I cry
Take shallow breaths
Fight nausea
Forget I am a man
Forget I am responsible
Forget I am
Exactly what I said I was
Forgetful
Forgetting
Forgotten
Liquor Run
It’s time to go on a liquor run
Time to go on a liquor run, hun
It’s time to go on a liquor run
Time to go on a liquor run, hun
Well it’s Friday night and I just clocked out
Pay-check in my hand so you know what I’m about
Throw the truck in reverse then I throw it to first
Peelin’ out the parking lot ‘cause I gotta quench my thirst
It’s time to go on a liquor run
Time to go on a liquor run, hun
Time to go on a liquor run
Time to go on a liquor run, hun
Now I been out in the field all day
and you been cleaning your life away
What we both need is couple of drinks
To whet our whistles - tell me whaddayou think?
What’s that you’re saying?
The cabinet’s dry?
There ain’t no bourbon and there ain’t no rye?
There ain’t no vodka and there ain’t no beer?
Well what the hell are we doing just standing here?
It’s time to go on a liquor run
Time to go on a liquor run, hun
Time to go on a liquor run
Time to go on a liquor run, hun
Now the liquor store man he knows me well
Calls me Mister when he makes that sell
Got a big box ready to lock and load
With bottle after bottle of that liquid gold
It’s time to go on a liquor run
Time to go on a liquor run, hun
Time to go on a liquor run
Time to go on a liquor run, hun
Didja get that whiskey?
You bet!
Didja get that rum?
I didn’t forget!
Didja get tequila?
¡Sí, Sí, Sí!
A bottle of scotch?
Oh yes indeed!
Didja grab some beer?
A case or two!
What about the wine?
Some from me, some for you!
Didja get some gin?
Of course, I did!
Well then get on home and let’s pop them lids!
Let’s drink until we can’t drink no more!
Let’s dance on the couches and sleep on the floor!
Let’s stir up shit like pigs in pen!
Let’s get up tomorrow and do it all again!
When it’s time to go on a liquor run
Time to go on a liquor run, hun
Time to go on a liquor run
Time to go on a liquor run, hun
To Retire at Peace
You once were a body
of dirt and tiny roots,
grub worms and cicadas.
Sometime in the night
you turned to grey stone
and started to question
the idea of mobility.
You forgot that erosion
is a rock’s sure-fire ticket
to a beachside retreat
someplace nice and warm.
It took only 10,
000 years and 1,
000,000,000 raindrops
to remind you.
Now you enjoy
frozen piña coladas
in a body of light,
a body prone to catch fire
given prolonged exposure,
a body prone to move faster
than anything else you’ve known.
Negation
A secret is not
Necessarily a mystery
And a mystery is not
Necessarily a problem
And a problem is not
Necessarily an obstacle
And an obstacle is not
Necessarily a tragedy
And a tragedy is not
Necessarily a sadness
And a sadness is not
Necessarily a lover
And a lover is not
Necessarily a necessity
And a necessity is not
Necessarily a secret
So shhh, shhhhhhhh
Kiss me, just kiss me
Good For
This poem's gonna make you do the watusi
This poem's gonna make you piss in the jacuzzi
This poem's gonna make you drop down in a fit
This poem's gonna make you feel like stir-fried shit
This poem's gonna make your bones brittle and cold
This poem's gonna make you feel 98 years old
This poem's gonna tell everyone all your dirty thoughts
This poem's gonna know for how much you can be bought
This poem's a maverick, gun-toting psychopath
This poem's a queer ghost full of grey wrath
This poem's American as apple-flavored pie
This poem's a blue and a black and a purple-pink eye
This poem's a kick in the pearly white teeth
This poem's a bastard, a bitch, and a queef
This poem's gonna stop rhyming on the next line and
this poem's gonna toss and turn at night thinking about you and
this poem’s gonna wonder how to make it work and buy two tickets to paradise and sneak you out of the house, through the garden, past the guards, and you and this poem are gonna run away together into the moonlit prairie and get lost in the tall grass and call each other by secret names and fall to the dirt laughing and drift off to sleep gazing into each other’s eyes, holding hands, and wake up with smiles because that's what
poetry is good for,
if anything at all.
Mitigations
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Cheers to you. Enjoy the tunes.
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