his eyes squinted
at the cherry red end
as he drew smoke
to his lungs
sitting in the dark
in the old cloth chair
crushing the butt
into the tray
a hot piece flies off
and lands in the cushion
his weighty eyes closing
from sheer exhaustion
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
papa made it clear
he wanted his bones
buried out in the field
using the same
crop circle pattern
the aliens created
back in the summer
of nineteen ninety-two
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we danced in the rain
beneath the streetlamp
our minds drifting
past the invisible moon
into carelessness
we lived in a place
without birth or death
a visual paradise
where angels in the sky
longed to touch down
at night we chanted
for the moon and rain
to call the children
hiding beyond the light
to dance
and dance again
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there’s nothing wrong with me
as i hit the snooze button
for the third time
stare at the cobweb on the ceiling fan
wondering where the spider is.
outside i hear mickey’s silverado
start up and head down the street.
it must be seven-thirty-five.
a few hours later i get out of bed
walk over to the window
and draw the shade
another half inch.
i spend the next ten minutes
sitting on the shitter.
i check my email on my android
and play a few pinball games.
“hey boss this is johnson,” i say,
talking into my boss’s android.
“listen, something’s come up,
i won’t be in today…or tomorrow….
actually i won’t be back until thursday.
“there’s nothing wrong with me
so don’t call back
and i’ll see you on thursday.”
i finish my business in the bathroom
and make my way back to bed,
excited about the idea
of doing nothing
for three more days.
author’s note:
this poem is in response to charles bukowski’s oral dissertation on depression
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the spider hunters believed
in making their mark
whether filmed in the amazon
or the cape of good hope
a long line of survivalists
funded their work
forsaking a return on investment
for some awesome video
the viewers became hooked
as the camouflaged pair
set traps sponsored by
some weed killer company
they reinvented themselves
season after season
adapting to new appendages
with built in silk ejectors
with ratings off the charts
they rolled the dice
promising the unheard of
to hold your attention
their evolution took a leap
episode one year eight
as a confused world watched
the birth of a new species
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we talked for hours
after the football game
starting where we left off
thirty years ago
we sat in the very same
booth, where in the day
i wrote short stories
while putting down pints
sometimes we’d sit
at the bar and chain-smoke
sipping on coffee
in between classes
you haven’t changed a bit
she said, laughing;
a reminder how she loved
to tell white lies
once in the corner
on a cold rainy night
i wept like a baby
ruining my story
after hearing the news
you searched me out
held me in your arms
until the bar closed
you know, she said,
you’ll meet her again
and her beauty
will take you away
melancholy struck me
as she covered my wrist
with her hands,
closing her eyes
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
gravitational forces
make the world go round
geometrically perfect
and mathematically sound
innocently conceived
of violent explosions
woe are the children
born into a whirlwind
of poverty and starvation
whose land neither spins
nor revolves with beauty
or compassion or truth
sad is the soldier
dying in a battlefield
dark clouds circling above
the beauty of the world
just a passing idea
taught in a classroom
man and his machines
compete for dominance
racing across the skies
and testing mother nature
with all the tangible wealth
this blue jewel can muster
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
satan sat poised and silent
listening to the dead man’s plea
nodding like a disinterested psychiatrist
who magnanimously extended the session
so the injured soul could recount
all the right reasons
for distrusting the existence
of life after death
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I fell in love with you from the very start
your shapely lines burned my eyes
reflecting off a mirror
I bought as a gift
before realizing
I wasn’t the only one you left penniless
with desperate thoughts of turning the blade
against my own will
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
in a desperate attempt
to regain my focus
i found myself
walking the streets
of the city
for days on end
buying random thoughts
from ordinary people
in hopes of curing
the quiet desperation
of an idle mind
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I sign in with a password
as old as the hills
one any junkie hack
should crack
without much effort
keep thinking I’ve seen it all
until some new shit
keeps popping up
every few seconds
proving I’m wrong
trying to keep cool
today I told someone
to multi-task
when I know damn well
that is so yesterday
my virtual file cabinet burned
with the last solar flare
to hit the network
disabling my efforts
to save the company
without any time to lose
I found myself
vacationing on the moon
with my new best friends
who have no names
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I had lost strength
after traveling so far
past the Nile Basin
and into the unknown
A sip from an ancient flower
tasted like perfection
numbing my legs
and sending my mind
into the night sky
where I was greeted
with weightlessness and peace
Throughout the night
I envisioned weaving
up the tallest tree
whose succulent branches
encouraged me to reach the top
Amble in my sleep
I pitched a tent
and watched the world fly by
I awakened to a dazzling
white sky with rainbow clouds
and golden snowcaps
my newfound perspective
exactly like the dream
For centuries I flew across
idle fields with virgin springs
until finally tiring a second time
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
my shaman is a musician
sitting in grandma’s rocking chair
her nylon-stringed classical guitar
strapped across his shoulder
months go by without knowing
his arrivals or departures
i imagine he’s playing her music
to a sold-out crowd in need
the mosh pit implosion gives rise
to a new kind of attention
where misunderstood children
believe in second chances
though my shaman has no wings
his imperfect compositions
sail beyond the faintest star
giving light where there is none
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I jumped off a boxcar
in downtown Kansas City
made my way
to 18th and Vine
where Satchel Paige
pitched a complete game
at Blues Stadium
With just enough dough
for two quarts of Colt 45
and Cracker Jack
I basked in the sun
keeping score and
losing my voice cheering
on the Monarchs
Down to my last nickel
I walk toward the whistle
cold and sober
tired and hungry
needing to steal a ride
and a good night’s sleep
back to Chicago
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
flatfooted on the edge
of a supersized
new york city highrise
i calmly stand tall
like an olympian diver
slowly rising to her toes
before falling into twisted
recollections of fetal positions
and outstretched arms
a trail of shuttering thumbnails
racing faster and faster
until forever buried
below the water’s wake
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
reborn from the ashes
of ancient man
my new robot registers
some 2.4 million
years of age
her memory recalls
walking upright
from the very start
when dinosaur parts
sold on street corners
newly retooled in a shop
in downtown phoenix
his synthetic upgrades
looked as real as
tomorrow’s avatars
aware its architecture
forever evolved
it didn’t take long
until i was integrated
into the next release
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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