I guess

Spotted!
By Jackson Grind


Hiding behind half hearted handshakes
resperating botanicals
and wondering when this liquid
crosses the line, into confidence
convoluted
weaving words into
quarter-witted remarks
Inhaling the season's end
exhaling feelings of last year
there's the constant reminder
not glance over one's shoulder
or into the past
lest they gaze
on your vaguely familiar face
“The sky is yearning for your hands
lay the pen on the ground
the vines of clever justice
have you surrounded,
oh, poignant poetaster!”

wilting

I'm blindly tapping my way
in and out of the forest
of essence of self
and vanilla extract
scented humanity

color coded confusion
callous
contrived
commercialize me
install a cornerstone
or support beams

there is someting i'd like to say
an emotion i'd like to feel
but the mornings around here
are so, so foggy

let me watch

Ring the Buzzer
by Jackson Grind

i always arrive with an entourage
of wise men
who converse only of compromised morals
and sexual undertones
and ask "what else is there to speak of?"

women who accessorize
with neon bags
and empty glasses frames
swallow my pride
and indulge the vanity
which i choke down for every meal
and chase with something stiff
on the rocks

i exit through a trap door
to suit my idiom
and the angel on my shoulder
hasn't paid rent in years

we think so

stuck inside instability,
marching a broken path.
accept theres no way out
and it won't help to ask.
you've got to learn this on your own
but when you finally come to comprehend,
please understand,
the rules of the game grow more complicated.

break down the heartache.
build your own tragedy.

so do the numbers, build yourself a home.
find a wife and leave her all alone.
she'll make you dinner and wash your clothes.
and drown her sister with sobs over the telephone.
trap her with lost looks and dresses.
let her build herself these broken ledges
to stand upon all afternoon
neglect sinched tight like a noose.
all it takes is one slight of foot.
will she jump or will you push?
regardless, a real man would follow.

break down the heartache.
build your own tragedy.

_william j toburn