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poetry by j matthew waters

a thousand maniacs


where am I to look
now that they’ve taken my view away

here I sit with a fob in my hand
wondering what if anything it controls

I have many visitors
throughout the night
none of them saying a word
but rather shaking their heads
and stomping their feet
as if heavy metal fills the air

there’s a guitar propped up
in the far corner
I imagine I’m shredding it
like I used to do
and everyone in front of me
is screaming
like a thousand maniacs




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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