glass door opening
calming voice beckoning me
time to move forward
map on other side
unfolded and revealing
cosmic traveling
escort in red cap
accepting one-way ticket
handing back the stub
rocketship rumbling
buckling in for final ride
counting down from ten
february two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we fished off the docks
overcast sunday morning
praying for a break
weatherman says
tomorrow should be better
once churchgoers
and earthworms are all
back at work
most of us don’t
give a damn
about day jobs or night life
let alone the cost of
living or dying
river keeps calling
finding ourselves responding
come rain or come shine
november two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
full moon with stitches
off-white and slowly revolving
like a knuckleball
in the alleyways
pick-up games start at daybreak
broomsticks and duct tape
tying run at plate
runners at every corner
bus driver pitching
final shot arcing
sailing over skyscrapers
shooting for the moon
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
sun surely needs you
pale in cheek you seem to be
lose the umbrella
dream versus fake world
tap tap tap on your shoulder
wake up morpheus
quiver of arrows
sneaking around a rainbow
aiming for the moon
opiates prescribed
addiction is sure to come
endless nights awake
november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
two sided candle
flames in the mirror enlarge
inertia building
light enters darkness
camera sans aperture
tricking gravity
pardon the grey star
lingering behind curtain
dying to explode
whole new worlds open
warp speed into asteroids
tumbling past space rocks
november two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
You kept me boxed in you did
With your rules
About long hair and piercings
Telling me what can be visible
And what can’t
With tats and other stuff
I can’t imagine you expect
Such conformity
This day and age
At a time when I should print
Anything I like on Twitter
And not be badly judged
I know you expect endless creativity
In a five seven five set
But you’ll have to forgive me
For stepping out of bounds
Every now and then
With three irregular verses
october two thousand eleven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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