I fell in love with you from the very start
your shapely lines burned my eyes
reflecting off a mirror
I bought as a gift
before realizing
I wasn’t the only one you left penniless
with desperate thoughts of turning the blade
against my own will
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
in a desperate attempt
to regain my focus
i found myself
walking the streets
of the city
for days on end
buying random thoughts
from ordinary people
in hopes of curing
the quiet desperation
of an idle mind
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I sign in with a password
as old as the hills
one any junkie hack
should crack
without much effort
keep thinking I’ve seen it all
until some new shit
keeps popping up
every few seconds
proving I’m wrong
trying to keep cool
today I told someone
to multi-task
when I know damn well
that is so yesterday
my virtual file cabinet burned
with the last solar flare
to hit the network
disabling my efforts
to save the company
without any time to lose
I found myself
vacationing on the moon
with my new best friends
who have no names
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I had lost strength
after traveling so far
past the Nile Basin
and into the unknown
A sip from an ancient flower
tasted like perfection
numbing my legs
and sending my mind
into the night sky
where I was greeted
with weightlessness and peace
Throughout the night
I envisioned weaving
up the tallest tree
whose succulent branches
encouraged me to reach the top
Amble in my sleep
I pitched a tent
and watched the world fly by
I awakened to a dazzling
white sky with rainbow clouds
and golden snowcaps
my newfound perspective
exactly like the dream
For centuries I flew across
idle fields with virgin springs
until finally tiring a second time
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
my shaman is a musician
sitting in grandma’s rocking chair
her nylon-stringed classical guitar
strapped across his shoulder
months go by without knowing
his arrivals or departures
i imagine he’s playing her music
to a sold-out crowd in need
the mosh pit implosion gives rise
to a new kind of attention
where misunderstood children
believe in second chances
though my shaman has no wings
his imperfect compositions
sail beyond the faintest star
giving light where there is none
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I jumped off a boxcar
in downtown Kansas City
made my way
to 18th and Vine
where Satchel Paige
pitched a complete game
at Blues Stadium
With just enough dough
for two quarts of Colt 45
and Cracker Jack
I basked in the sun
keeping score and
losing my voice cheering
on the Monarchs
Down to my last nickel
I walk toward the whistle
cold and sober
tired and hungry
needing to steal a ride
and a good night’s sleep
back to Chicago
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
flatfooted on the edge
of a supersized
new york city highrise
i calmly stand tall
like an olympian diver
slowly rising to her toes
before falling into twisted
recollections of fetal positions
and outstretched arms
a trail of shuttering thumbnails
racing faster and faster
until forever buried
below the water’s wake
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
reborn from the ashes
of ancient man
my new robot registers
some 2.4 million
years of age
her memory recalls
walking upright
from the very start
when dinosaur parts
sold on street corners
newly retooled in a shop
in downtown phoenix
his synthetic upgrades
looked as real as
tomorrow’s avatars
aware its architecture
forever evolved
it didn’t take long
until i was integrated
into the next release
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
The fear in your face
scared me half to death.
In just a matter of seconds
your eyes told me a story
I never want to hear again.
Why you drifted into the desert
that starless night
only you’ll understand.
I just prayed to god
your pistols were loaded.
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
i am never alone
as long as beer
is nearby
whether she be
in the refrigerator
or at the corner store
after a long day at work
i try to recall
the night before
wonder if any beer
is left before i stop
to buy some more
at happy hour
my friends say
final final final
as we clank
our frosty mugs
to toast another round
when life is less bright
i cry in my beer
and swallow my tears
but when life is grand
i raise my hand
to give praise with a beer
some say heaven
there is no beer
but i say
to hell with that
please bury me
with six pack in hand
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Born to a clan of precision
stone cutters we hunt
for the larger population
roaming mesas and plateaus
and mountainsides
armed with clovis tip spears
knives and knowledge
our larger than life trophies
transformed into meat and clothing
jewelry and armor and weapons
and terrifyingly heroic tales
of gigantic proportions
leaving the little ones
amazed and inspired to dream
big all winter long
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I recall the day
she was thin
wearing a new
eggshell white t-shirt
innocently smiling
The passage of time
reshaped her views
becoming impartial
to the crescent
and the cross
Continuing to mature
languor set in
her spirit seemingly
broken in half
her desires numb
Feeding on earth
she became pregnant
with knowledge
bulging like a gibbous
and loud as a siren
Her finest moment
exposes all that is dark
shining light on
an uncertain world
full of hope
and trepidation
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
drums bang slowly into the night
keeping time with toy soldiers
marching through the streets
enforcing a curfew imposed
by the new boss promising
freedoms this world has yet to know
july two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Now that the house is empty
I easily awaken from cries
in the dark, sneaking in
through the bedroom window
on a cool, autumn morning.
I roll out of bed at four a.m.
and rush to the window
like a child on Christmas Eve;
eyes focused on the house
across the street, a lone light
leaking through the drawn shade.
Once the child has grown quiet
from his mother’s magical touch,
I crawl back to bed, wondering
where my own children might be
and if they ever think of me
when hearing cries in the dark.
july two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
aggression builds from the stress
of surviving day by day
protecting what space is mine
and jousting with antennae helmeted
ne’er-do-wells who want to steal my girl
numb to the idea my days are numbered
i chirp lullabies out in the open field
promising hundreds of offspring
a seat by the fire before the first frost
july two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I rode my new bike called Crimson
down the Southern route
of the Urban Trail.
I soon met a squad car inching toward me;
two of its wheels on the path
and two on the grass.
The officer flinched his finger and thumb
directly at me with a smile.
I just stared at him in passing,
confused like a dog
sorting out a strange animal
for the first time.
As I carried on I pondered
changing into my red cape
and saving the day
by single-handedly
apprehending the villain
who lurked somewhere in the brush.
july two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 