A Floating Vessel
Such a simple plan of what to do
With no motivation to pull through
A numbing voice inside my head
The thought that one day I’ll be dead
Is there a reason to hold on to this?
A tear after a farewell kiss
Rolling slowly down the mountainside
To meet with the incoming tide
Floating on a gentle wave
A boat with no soul to save
Avoiding the horizon grave
Oblivious to the passing day
To prove the worth of our kind
We look to what we left behind
When we were happy to forgive
And people gave their lives to live
Is there a reason to hold on to this?
A hope that we’ll experience
A different kind of happiness
On the razor edge of past regrets
Floating in the noonday sun
No idea of what has begun
Blood sucked out through an open heart
Ripped to shreds, torn apart
Raph Tombasco
tripping on leaves, grinning
Here comes the wind
breath stealer
breathing thief
leaf rattler trunk straddler
sip of the frost
slap in the face goblin
lean fingered
nail in your nose creep
sweet sleep sweeper
dust drowner, disturber of
peace dog whistler wolf howler moon
tower wizard
night watcher day crawler
here comes the wind, calling
gasp kisser
shut lids
hold your breath
Marina Blitshteyna
So this is college
All-nighters and parents’ cash
and class sometimes, too
Pete Gorman
Before I sleep: for C.F.
These miles I think you took a shortcut
through the woods
detoured the road I’d not taken
lovely and deep said fuck
the yawns and corners pause for breath
no yellow lights in hell
can’t speed through red in heaven all these
miles will take me years no sleep till
New York city in your mom’s stolen van no change
at the gas station counting pennies no awful
No’s don’t bother hearing bells toll midnight
don’t bother stopping short and
asking for directions
and sleep before the signs and huddle on my lap
and race your heart to death
the victory will kill
the needle never hurt your lover never came
you never died
you won’t until a poet says so
then still at his device the surgeon now
at 2 a.m. counting the cigarettes in your chambers
scattering ashes of all your lovers
slipping out ghosts for all your firsts
the doctors must lose their knives in that
winding forest cut corners in that
road you took
and you won’t die
unless they dig your footprints from the dirt
and carve you whole
and even still at their
discretion and even
still I have your map,
I have your map.
Marina Blitshteyn
Unwritten Short Stories
about my childhood:
green leaves on the trees
and blossoms like popping
corn – here a blossom – there
a blossom – the smell of the blossoms
meant summer beatings
i worked hard as a child
i drank hard as a child
by the time I was an adult
I was ready for a childhood
tonight I was eating some
soup and my eyes are getting
so bad that I couldn’t see the details
of the soup just the colors
the cat came by and squeaked at me
“color soup,” I said to the cat
the cat understood
www.fatherluke.com
Out of Cigarettes
Three in the morning,
and sober in a hotel room.
Restless.
Can’t sleep.
Reach for a cigarette.
None; all out.
Crumble up the empty pack,
and toss it at the wall.
Get out of bed,
and look for clothes.
Find pants
and shirt
wadded up in a ball
underneath the bed.
Put on
stinky
black socks,
inside out.
Not cold enough
to need shoes.
Walk outside to
look for a place
that sells smokes.
Look around.
Strange town;
don’t know where any
stores are that sell smokes.
Drop head down to
chest, frustrated.
Glance at ground
in the shadow of a street light.
Half a cigarette is next
to right foot.
Look around.
Wiggle toes.
No one is around
this late at night.
Pick up the butt and go back
into the room and smoke it.
www.fatherluke.com
a little small girl
shows not shoulders in
bared teeth and
stealthen spiritual shirts.
started topics creating
boredom and evasive natures that
are as unbecoming as
a sweater that does not fit.
a display in expression in
depicting in saying
i looked this up in the dictionary.
to impress you when everyone can see my neck
and collarbone.
i like the feeling of fingers
that ran along like legs
but
stay hooded
stealthily scaring my shoulders
while I sleep
is a snail’s shell to me.
Monika Ostrowski
Past is Forgotten
The past is soon forgotten once the
Present encompasses future.
Time revolves around us
And here we are
Holding on as if we can prevent the
Distance
But really
Distance only creates time
And time is ours to keep
Forever, as one, us, ours.
Jamie Griebner
