I like it! I write mostly jazz poetry and avant-garde stream of conciousnes poetry…
Another Shatter
I told you before, it didn’t matter, untill I cryed that you were pulling me down through these tarnished hopes and wishes back to where we started. At nowhere, I paused for breath and you told me to let you go but I held on too hard and you just fell, and fell, and fell.
I stood by myself, not knowing, never blinking and I started. looking at you fall down, and down, and down untill you were quite all on the ground.
(Taking it all in over a Stevens County sunset)
I had to scream to be heard over the rain. It poured down on the concrete like arrows fresh from Orion’s bow, sucking into a pigeon’s heart and letting it fall into a million bloody pieces" I yelled. Still no reply, no head turning as your heart got eaten by twenty small animals. Removing the blood from their lips, they sat there (some standing) and they looked at me with an air of disdane and frustration like I didn’t already know. But I had no clue what they were talking about as they skurttled themselvesby their toes into an oblivion, set off limits by the Marshall who sings half forgotton songs to a deaf woman in hopes of winning her over. He spat part of his soul at her feet but she hardly noticed.
(Such are these times we are living in that have already been forgotten)
A harlot now apears and strolls down the gravel pathway in the garden. I blow a kiss to her and smile and she spits at me. I tried to aproach her and she swung sorrowed, talloned hands at me. I ran at her, knocking her over and down and into the river. Her hair became like wisps of singed grass in the coldness. We stodd in full view, staring each other in the face silent. Her, she was wet and deranged in the mucky scum in the water, I, I had pushed her, looking from the bank. (Not triumphant at all). I helped her climb out. We walked down the highway again. Cars and Trucks swinging madly every direction around us. She didn’t whisper a single word. My heart was tearing itself up because of the scilence, and she knew. I walked on the highway with the woman who hated me. No talking, no looking.
I told her that it wasn’t far to Akron. She told me we’d left Akron miles ago. Now the only way to return was to come back to where we started, in the snowy fields when I was trapped under the roots of a tree.
Trapped like a rock under water.
She came and straightend the roots with her hands that looked like grass. And finally, I could only think to say:
“Did you know that your hands look like they’re made out of grass?”
