the rhythm of the day varies
as does the week
month & year
there is no status quo
only forward motion
often directionless
— the trick is finding
the one ride
guaranteed
to blow your mind
march two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I don’t know much about global modernism
it seems to me like most of us are subsisting
day by day in many different worlds
anywhere on the planet you’ll find societies
living before & during & after biblical times
some hidden deep inside rain forests
others digging for safety below the surface
or propelling themselves out into outer space
march two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I mean not to brag
but I’ve buried my past
like seeds of destruction
ashes gathered & scattered
over time germinating
mere inches below the surface
a little girl in the garden
[creating new worlds]
pours pretend water from a red pail
& I find myself mingling
w/the roots of the perennials
mere inches below her feet
march two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
aiming his colt forty-five
directly down her neck
[perpendicular to the front of the skull]
the cowboy shot his horse dead
the muscles throughout his body
contracting just like hers
lasting less than 30 seconds
—as if choreographed
the two of them collapsed to the dirt
she as silent as the night
he sobbing uncontrollably
nothing but a shadow of his former self
february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the girl in the barrio
listened to the radio
every night
keeping the volume
as low as possible
so as not awaken
the others
the music soft
and soothing
as smooth as her skin
glowing from
the shine of the moon
her emotions
ruled by a heart
destined to understand
life outside these walls
february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they’re talking on the streets
how it’s much safer than
metropolitan america
oh how I laugh
not interested in going back
my passport surrendered
so many years ago
—I’ve since developed
a new language
dutifully translating
unknown poetry
february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
a child is unwrapping
her birthday gift
in the center
of a makeshift stadium
the audience of strangers
in the tens of thousands
cheering her on
throwing visual objects
on the neatly cut grass
surrounding her
music blaring as shes roars
raising the stuffed T-Rex
high above her head
february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
you can only go so far
singing the same song
comparing
the goose with the gander
with too much regularity
beating down the same path
praising mediocrity
—but as for the newness
of tomorrow
it is rarely considered
like a stepchild believing
every moment in time
resides in and of itself
february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
throw paint at the wall
to get a clearer picture
of what’s in the room
—having dried overnight
return & peel back the colors
the painted elephant
is like a shameless chameleon
a reminder you might not
arrive at any conclusions
the first time around
january two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there was something I was going to say
over and over and over again
but whatever it was it just went away
and I was left wishing my heart was cold
I was lost inside my bewildered mind
going over and over and over again
where it was I wanted to be
but I was frozen in my own tracks
believing I would likely die from the cold
january two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
if we’re lucky
we’ll see the moon
rise along with the sun
any day now
dismissing any worries
it was blown
to pieces
by a barrage
of nuclear warheads
january two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve taken an interest in illustrating
her pretty white lies
turning them into pretentious trees
inside my newly acquired
little black book
music on the radio I pause & choose
who should I believe
strong winds shaking loose the leaves
I pick them up two at a time
saying she loves me not
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
putting things into perspective
has become a troubling annoyance
therefore no such efforts
shall be allowed inside this
house of solitary discourse
where a steady stream
of conscious thought
comes in through the outdoor
circulating amongst the drafts that be
until they either expire into
an imaginary pool of desire
or casually live on
in another occupant’s dream
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
birds & song & moving picture
congealing into a triangle
far away but coming into focus
slowly nearing the breakline
brought closer by the moon
& an inland breeze
children of the sand
pointing & jumping & shouting
we are saved
we are saved
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
careless discipline
is there such a thing
a lack of interest
in most things
up & down the line
a stark contrast
from possessing
a simple determination
to move forward selfishly
totally unaware
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
of course it doesn’t exist
inside poetry
everything is equal
inside these lines
good & evil
incapable of relating
to abundance or poverty
though a consistent manipulation
resides in the background
attempting to par the course
while inside rhymes
look over your shoulder
always dying to dream
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 