i look in the mirror and see my father

 

there are days when

i look in the mirror

and see my father

 

that's usually when

i start looking for

the razor blades

 

this shit always

comes up around

father's day every

damn year

 

one of these years

i'll finally put that

damn demon in the

ground to go along

with the body

 

of course, that would

mean having to go to

the grave i suppose

 

time to think of

a better way

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

makes room for progress

 

i laugh at the number

of smokers that have

oxygen tanks

 

i'm surprised their

doctors haven't

alerted the authorities

 

of course, the

authorities probably

couldn't give two

shits if the homes

of the poor blow

up

 

makes room for

progress

 

for condos

 

or yet another

fucking strip mall

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

where the trash belongs

 

your dreams consist

of dark brown skin

kissing you over in

the corner of a jazz

club

 

where coltrane and

charlie parker play

around each other

every single night

 

a sweet tongue finds

the back of your soul

and forever seems

certainly possible

 

but the evil spirits

always get to you

first

 

the first glass is

smooth

 

the second is bitter

 

and the third is

your realization that

no one should ever

fear death

 

the angels nudge you

along your way

 

into the streets, where

the trash belongs

 

pain and misery await

you upon arrival

 

you might think you

deserve better

 

you don't

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

most call it love

 

i look in your eyes

and taste honey

dripping from

my lips

 

a rush of emotion

passion, confusion

 

most call it love

 

i've been out of the

game for so long

i no longer am sure

 

but i know the way

you make me feel

think, dream

 

like there is something

other than this fucked

up existence out there

for me

 

i yearn to wake up

in your arms

 

to hear you laugh at

one of my jokes

 

to look each other

in the eye and know

that forever is just

around the corner

------------------------------------------------------------------------

my escape

 

it figures

 

the world gets

crazy and my

escape is to fall

in love with a

woman that lives

in a country i'll

probably never

get to visit

 

eventually,

the money will

dry up and i can't

imagine someone

willing to give up

living in rome to

choose to live in

ohio

 

no matter

how handsome

funny and good

with my tongue

i am

------------------------------------------------------------------

a creepy old fucker

 

the younger women

never sit near me

 

they would rather

stand than risk a

moment near a

creepy old fucker

 

give them a few

years and they

will understand

 

the pleasure of

just a little bite

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

J.J. Campbell

AN OWL TREE

Suddenly there is no one left I wish to talk to,

The click of feathers and hollow bones,

The bird away, the dog excited.

The air heavy with rain

the bluest wet sky 

and in this place where no breeze blows,

no breeze blew.

Listen:

the branches of the great trees are talking to each other,

their leaves folding into one another,

and the moon slips behind a clash of consonants,

a sudden lurch of lightning

and after a day of heat and sunlight,

night comes with water

and wind.

Sit outside with me a moment.

You can finish your chores tomorrow.

Tonight is a time for the movements of air,

a dialogue of branches,

the conducting of clouds,

and if we get wet, no matter,

I am in your debt.

THE DIVORCE

 

knocked the earth out of me,

thick clods, mud worn,

blood listing from the Bodhi tree,

 

so I took the bones and planted them

in the grass filled yard of leaf and wind

near the place where breathing comes easy.

JACK FROST SLEEPS WITH GOLDILOCKS

 

Cold sleeps in the room with Beauty

rearranging itself into frost giants and lumberjacks.

Snow White is still in development,

and Loki—well, he’s already a myth.

This I know: Beauty sleeps under twenty blankets

and always feels the pinch of the pea; grows her hair 

long enough to cut, and cuts it; carries fresh meat pies 

through the forest to lure wolves to their death 

and skins them; and when she falls asleep in her brass bed,

the cold remains, unremitting, like a poisoned apple,

like a hundred year sleep, like a broken glass slipper

Humpty Dumptied into so many pieces 

no prince in love can glue it back together again.

Michael H. Brownstein

Loser

You lose slowly, one needle
at a time. First time
you slip it in your pocket
like a dirty coin, but soon
it’s the size of a fist
and there’s no room for your own
alongside it;

one day your hear
its footsteps shadowing yours,
though you never look back
and never see its face;
soon you’re growing smaller
day by day, till one night
you’re just a hand
in someone else’s pocket.

When you look outside
everything is green cold
crazy and beautiful
and you never want to
go out there again,
no matter how they scream

this is the real world
where everyone belongs;
see that face on the street
that hand in the pocket,
that’s you;
that’s all you’ve ever been,
that’s all we ever wanted
but not me: leave me here
with my bazooka
I’ll fire my own way to hell.

Drowning Without Tears

Only an illusion,

of course; the hours

never stop bleeding

you dry, though sometimes

they sit you by the river

and tell you that

the coursing of the cool water

is also the coursing

of your life, gushing aside

from the mainstream

to quiet little eddies

hidden amongst rocks.

Many a wise head

can be found bobbing

under a jetty beside

the dead ducks.

When you understand

why drowning is

the only option,

life in theory becomes

easier to bear; but only

as long as you sit by

the river, sagely nodding

your head. If you are required

to go back into the tepid flow

it won't be long before

you're thrashing with the rest

of the soon-to-be-deceased,

trying to kid themselves

they know how to keep

their heads above water.

Contentment is only

for those who can afford

to keep their feet dry;

who can buy into the notion

that the clock may be

ticking, but you don't have to.

Wind how you will,

we all bomb out in the end.

Routine Admission

Thought I’d met the devil himself,
but he was just the average everyday
baby-raper
limping into the hospital
with his cock cut to shreds
like someone had got it real hard
then taken a razor blade to it

me I seen it all before;
you hit the low ground running
thinking they can’t get no sicker
and here’s this guy, looks like
every guy out there,
only thinking how hard
his dick hurts and where he can post
the pictures on-line

when somewhere there’s a baby
screaming
blood pouring out of his ass
in a river red enough

to wash me and bent cock
all the way to Hell

where Satan himself
will sit shaking his head
when I tell him
all the things I’ve seen.

Citizen Of Nowhere

Voices dissolve me like

a soluble pill, but light

burns through my skin,

rendering me a shadow

of the roles I’m required

to play. The loyal employee

you would have me fabricate,

and the wild boy I would be

if only you’d stop screaming

too loudly or whispering

too quietly, pushing light

into my eyes like a face

through a windscreen

when I crash head-on

into the world.

Me vs Meds

You could call it a trade-off,

I guess. Each walks away

with some of the little he asked for,

but none of the whole he dreamt.

I get to sleep a little deeper,

and he gets to hear a scream

without leaping out of his skin

and streaking his bones

down the street. But he's the man

I see when I glare into glass,

and he looks like a bum to me;

some homeless derelict with

un-matched shoes who only talks

to the pet in his pocket. We talk

the same talk, we slurp the same meds,

but I'd cross the street to avoid him

if I could. I wonder if

he feels the same about me?

Indifferentiating

Nothing’s happening here.

The world still turns

and grows old, the sun

still burns out its fuel

at a pace steady enough

to roast itself dry

in a million years or two,

but nothing is happening

down here in the dirt,

the dregs. All we are is people;

all we do is scream.

Nothing’s happening here

to cause Saturn to thaw out

a new ring, or Mars to thicken

to a more bloody shade

of red. The gas giants

are still full of hot air,

Pluto is so negligible

it’s barely there, more woof

in its name than its weft.

We’re nothing that might

cause any other dweller

of the cosmos to blink once,

then get back to dreaming

and dreading, growing weak

and growing old;

looking to the black sky

and finding nothing but comfort

in the hot burn of a cold universe

into another, as indifferent

as the last. Our predecessors

had Shakespeares too.

Ian Mullins

an old otis redding record still playing

 

i still hear all the old songs

when i dream about holding

you in my arms, foolishly

thinking forever was actually

fucking possible

 

i still can see you walking

out the door as i sat there

stunned, wondering what

cruel trick was next in

my life

 

and they say heartbreak

will make you stronger

 

scars will add character

 

and alcohol is a lousy

companion

 

i never saw the guidebook

on what to do when you

could never get over that

heartbreak

 

and how the scars just

become a maze of hurt

 

and alcohol, the only

demon that never let

me down

 

it's a race between

loneliness and death

 

rye whiskey is in the

lead, tucking me into

bed each night as i try

to figure out when these

wounds will ever get

the chance to heal

-----------------------------------------------------------

a sign of a possible heart attack

 

a doctor once told

me back pain was

a sign of a possible

heart attack

 

i told him i'm only

surprised that i have

one at all

 

a heart he asked

 

yeah

 

there's an endless

line of women that

have told me i'm

a heartless bastard

 

wow he said

 

yeah, the bastard

thought is just

wishful thinking

------------------------------------------------------------

try not to choke on it

 

it's all part of the

race

 

the stop and start

 

trying to get to a

place on fucking

time

 

while battling old

drivers

 

lazy motherfuckers

on lunch break

 

the homeless getting

their exercise for the

day

 

and all my demons

that understand

all of this shit

is pointless

 

squeeze the marrow

and try not to choke

on it before you die

 

your death is

not a choice

 

only an ending

to the book

-----------------------------------------------

haunts me the most

 

of all the women i

have fallen in love

with

 

the lesbian still

haunts me the

most

 

she's the one i

remember kissing

me between drags

on cigarettes

 

the one i could

spend hours

talking to over

dinners

 

alcohol

 

endless laughs

over the small

talk of dreams,

marriage and

one day children

 

she's married to

a woman now and

happy i suppose

 

i'm lonely and

understanding

the depths of

depression

 

no one used their

tongue better

 

i suppose her wife

is happy as well

--------------------------------------------------

the car on a hot summer day

 

i remember when she

came to me and said

she paid for her own

abortion

 

i asked her when i

got her pregnant

 

she asked if i

remembered

the car on a hot

summer day

 

of course, i did

 

but i wanted to play

the role of asshole

today

 

i asked if she knew

it was mine

 

she said yes

 

i said fine, you did

the right thing

 

there wasn't anything

more asshole than

saying that

-----------------------------------------------

as deep as the rivers

 

you could always

laugh instead of

cry but then you'd

be as shallow as

the prick you

came from

 

the tears should

be as deep as

the rivers that

get polluted on

the way to the

ocean of doubt

and remorse

 

that's some real

life metaphorical

bullshit right there

---------------------------------------------------------

J.J. Campbell