POETRY AIN’T FIXING ME

by June 7, 2024 0 comments

I want the words on candy wrappers
to taste like chocolate and cashews.
I want the words on beer cans to help
me wobble through the kitchen at sunrise.

There’s a dark cane bootleg in my voice.
It’s cheap and cold, and it whispers to smoke.
I want some words left in my mind when
I sober up, so I can wedge them into the silence.

I want to dream about Pilate and Jesus,
one claiming truth, the other one ready
to question and question, and both of them
drift through my sleep and turn me into a train.

The train is hauling coal over the steepest mountain.
It catches fire, and I feel it and can’t describe it.
I should be running from the fire, but it’s inside me.
I don’t need words for that, just brandy and a chaser.

editors note:

It’s not what you request, but how you request it. We keep asking… – mh clay

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