people say nothing changes
the greatest lie ever told
as if the milky way itself
is a permanent timestamp
and that the moon
that cunning chameleon
hadn’t always been there for you
but certainly not the time
you first heard that really cool song
riding shotgun
in the old man’s mercury
february two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the reckoning has returned
gnawing away noisily
at lies & truths
like crows on a carcass
coming & going & returning
for as long as it takes
before becoming nothing more
than a past idea
an overflow of dying thoughts
replaced by lessons
in obedience
—the beginnings of a
new kind of old-school reality
january two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
desert prince
someone once promised
you the world but failed
in their efforts
having ascended into the skies
like a bird released
from its cage
unexpectedly
and so you were left
with only an idea
how to possess the world
if only for a brief moment
the idea itself becoming
its own energy
like waves
reshaping the shoreline
december two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’m not pretending
to be anyone
except myself
which may or may
not change
from time to
time
some say
I’m some sort of
chameleon
depending on
the time of day
or week or month
or quarter
depending on how
the moon
shapes
my thoughts
I stopped reading
the obits
years ago
figure if there’s anyone
dead that I
should know about
somehow I’ll
find out
in due time
october two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it was a journey
through the pouring rain
speeding not as fast on the interstate
the stress of the body
the brain pulsating
like the wipers
going back & forth
how many times have I
made this trip
to my mother’s house
a place I knew by heart
one in which she wouldn’t allow
a stranger to clean
though near the end it was inevitable
she would unhappily
acquiesce
the sun refused to show itself
that day
or the two that followed
the rains off & on but a reminder
how fluid is the body
from start to finish
how eventually it will become
a body of water
like a puddle or a pond or the sea
september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
angles are always changing
depending on the view
or the tilt of the earth
like a b&w flipbook of the moon
going through the phases
or bulbous-head water tower
near the center of town
occasionally shifting its location
on a stone wall
three pale white angels
quietly bide their time
their dark shadows
ebbing & flowing
like the tides
there is mystery in every
corner of the hour
perspectives coming & going
concrete ideas pixelating
until becoming fleeting
september two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
She can do anything at all
Have anything she pleases
—Chris Cornell
there’s all this talk
about simplicity & minimalism
reducing if not eliminating
mishaps & miscues
shedding thoughts of excess
and gaining intellectual insights
for no other reason
than to let the world know
that she can’t be changed
may two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
my dream is your reality
revisiting things that could have been
unable to change the course of events
but getting plenty of food for thought
be they apples or bananas
growing abundantly from utility poles
repurposed so many years ago
this place is not what it used to be
but in reality it never really was
& the minute you think
you’ve got everything figured out
something stranger comes marching on
making it perfectly clear
you’re no longer the new kid in town
august two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
winter came early this year
and nobody seemed
to give a damn
instead everyone was frozen
glued to their personal devices
as if they were mere machines
screams coming from across
the pond fell on deaf ears
except for those cheering
from the other side
meanwhile dark-eyed juncos
just got back in town today
while fat-breasted robins
continued to hang out
for some dumb reason
november two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the river ran dry
the year of the drought
collapsing the water table
atop its own legs
the wishing well closed
from lack of moisture
turning back all the day dreamers
hoping for change
september two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
He entered the house where decades ago he slept in a crib
in one of four bedrooms. Once inside a curious sense of loss
breathed throughout the rooms void of knickknacks and heirlooms.
A flurry of past and present images projected onto the walls
as memories both vague and succinct darted here and there.
In the kitchen the refrigerator exhaled and ice hit the empty tray.
Bending on one knee he reached his arm and unplugged the unit,
a slight emission emanating a smell much like Marlboro Light.
january two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
walking in i felt a presence
had just left
leaving behind a draft
coming from the return vent
a lone light shone
above the kitchen sink
highlighting the drip
that hadn’t been fixed for days
i thought i might find
a note on the counter
next to sunday’s newspaper
instead found a grocery list
along with a few coupons
the cat sauntered on the tile
and rubbed up against my ankle
sounding off in a bluesy way
somehow knowing
change was here to stay
december, two thousand eleven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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