it’s always been too much house
black widows casting spells
from within wasted spaces
the tiny bedroom a dot in the ocean
—an island of misfit miscellany
muted noises next to nothing
to worry about
except when the water tables
start to rise
august two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
How old do you suppose she is
twenty-five?
The special on Thursdays is oysters
flown in last night.
The last time it was Wednesday
they were spraying down the ashes.
Afterwards the seagulls came in.
Then came the crows,
followed by the vultures.
It used to rain in these here parts
but that was when the children were unafraid
walking along the shoreline unattended.
The ocean is a desert.
The desert is an ocean.
Sometimes there are two moons in the sky;
that only means you’ve been dreaming again.
If you could take only one thing what would it be?
The seashell?
Or maybe a bird’s song?
But what of the shadow
or the shadow of a shadow of a shadow
what will become of them?
Surely if anything they will live on.
july two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I wasn’t prepared to handle
the grief that would fill me
in the dead of the night
there was a muffled cry
coming from outside
and in my confused mindset
I believed I was participating
in a waking dream
turning on the front porch light
I unlocked the door
bewildered to find my former self
curled up in a little ball
weeping ever so slightly
in my sleep
july two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
hours before the dawn
I lay awake on my deathbed
breathing shallowly
the nasty weather outside
superseding any other sound
that may be coming out of my mouth
my only fear is that if I fall asleep
all hell will break loose
my mind stuck in heavy mode
processing reality into dreams
projected from my narrowly open eyes
onto the ceiling above me
june two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
upon awakening
I was certain I had painted
my face red
I had done it to protect myself
from a devious sun
previously I had danced
inside a triangle
inside a circle
inside a square
I could not see the players
but the guitar & the flute
the snare & the cello
carried on in perfect harmony
one time my father kicked a ball
from the family room through the kitchen
& into the parlor
I was certain I was the ball
sometimes the crescent moon
awakens me at midnight
I am more than happy to comply
concerned how lonely
she must be
june two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
you could smell
but did not taste the citric acid
the buds on your tongue
all but gone
you once believed in miracles
fairy tales & a ghost
named pseudo su
you used to carry
one-way tickets
to unlimited destinations
but traded them in
for a kiss & three wishes
how did you not notice
I’m not around here anymore
at least not in broad daylight
may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Heaven is comfort, but it’s still not living.
― Alice Sebold, The Lovely Bones
I was working on a lullaby
right around midnight
searching for words that rhyme with
worms & undercover
They say the funnel cloud
sounds like a fast approaching locomotive
but it’s nothing more than a mere dream
when a child is fast asleep
If you ever tore anything to pieces
with your own bare hands
you might have an appreciation for
the reality of true brute force
may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
a philosopher friend
once told me
try to look at this way
when the dream becomes reality
death is no longer an option
he was pretty stoned
at the time
so i didn’t want to ruin his buzz
yet the more I thought about it
the less I was concerned
about dying
may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I cut back the rose bushes
branches & stems & canes
right down to the green
It is early April & cold
a slight wind bemoaning change
—& just like in a recurring dream
a set of eyes (or maybe two)
watching
my every move
I should be wearing gloves
but I never do
my hands with an occasional puncture
blood beading & oozing here & there—
their eyes focused on the color scarlet
I imagine they are imagining
what it would taste like
to lick my wounds
I try to guess what animal
the eyes belong to
but they are shadowless
& possess no language
how I know they are there
remains a mystery to me
but a movement of light in my peripheral
has me looking inward
may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I wasn’t trained to shake it off
which may be why
my skin is inked in sin
Seeing people smile after
fucking up
what is that all about—
the devil or someone
just shaking it off
or perhaps something I can’t
wrap my head around
I keep looking
for enemies
but all I find are people
who look like me
especially the women
some of whom seemingly asking
haven’t we met before
april two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
so I agreed to met with this person
who said they had no agenda
—up to twenty inquiries allowed
but I had another thing in mind
(having awakened in a bed
that was not my own)
such as presenting each question
in the form of a wrong answer
april two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
she said I saw you
flirting with death the other day
and where was that I replied
fairly certain she had me confused
with some other restless heart
oh I don’t know she went on to say
it may have been at the tar pits
or was it somewhere inside the marsh
I haven’t been spelunking
or tangling with gators of late
though perhaps you’ve been devising ways
to infiltrate my fearless dreams
april two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
strange happenings
looming in the air
you can taste it
dark chocolate no
peanut butter no
sulphuric acid
well maybe it’s always changing
burning your eyes
your skin
the lower chamber of your heart
a festering sore feels like a wasp
crawling on the back of your neck
you wrap a scarf around it
it’s summertime
you look around
what was once familiar is now alien
[inside the dream]
you keep telling yourself
to wake up already
another hour goes by
april two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the way we see things now
is but a distant memory
the rivers
the lands
and the seas
[as you know
not all things appear
as they seem]
think of the dream
the one dream
unchanged over a lifetime
the rivers
and the lands
and the seas
exactly
where they’ve always been
by the time you awaken
all of it has been put back into place
and you imagine starting over
is a distinct possibility
february two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
what’s become of the deep dark state
that once help my grasp
a sort of given of a blacking out
for predictable periods of nightly reverie
once upon a time the creature of the night
dwelled in my dreams
today it’s a physical reality
scratching at the window like the wind
or like a raven tight walking the sill
indecisive in its next move
I am between subconsciousness & light
unafraid but frozen
I blink my eyes in a sort of morse code
the bird is unable to interpret
pacing back & forth
its eyes locked onto mine
as the latter flicker until the light of day
only then off it flies until the next affair
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
as far as I knew
everyone was asleep
except for me
and I can tell you
I was as quiet as a mouse
full moon shining through
casement window
I worked with pencil
on charcoal paper
sketching in
a perfect escape route
as the magical hour
drew nearer & nearer
my eyelids fluttered
[as if in REM mode]
a series of tunnels & ladders
leading me all the way back
to the beginning
november two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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