listening to rock on the internet
a continuous stream
of nostalgia mixed in between
modern marketing
the riffs & the screaming
chimpanzees banging on their bangos
dirty laundry coming out clean
by way of tide
the whole house shaking
when the decibels are cranked
as high as they can possibly go
april two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I see them all the time
flashbacks like flipbooks
some of them
are stick people
many of them dead
a name will appear out of
nowhere (or thin air)
like a rabbit out of a hat
I’m like a mad scientist
screaming Eureka
in this makeshift laboratory
what’s left loves to hold
a grudge against me
for things said or done
but especially for reasons
incomprehensible
april two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s late evening
& I’ve not yet turned
a page
a sheet of paper
blank or lined
a young male servant
or messenger
delivering bad news
by way of wise men
*
the dam is doomed to fail
or so the story goes
a flood of words deluging
on a sheet of ice
a great sea frozen
over time
is sure to thaw
sun falls further into the sea
the sea becoming
warmer
over generational time
*
for no apparent reason
someone who has never set sail
begins building an ark from scratch
april two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
sure you can start all over again
but it will have to be in a new body
which do you prefer this time
tall & dark & handsome
athletic or wirey or robust
perhaps a shy woman
putting to song the saddest
poetry ever written
sure you can start all over again
but you may not remember
the life you left behind
or perhaps you’d like to come back
with a certain kind of awareness
the god of rebirth giving you clues
of who you once were
and when you become of age
the new you suddenly
becomes obsessed
peeling back layer upon layer
like a genealogist
that proverbial onion having you
burning candles at both ends
scouring the information superhighway
soon you’ll face your next demise
april two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
on an early sunday morning
at a nightclub downtown
two are dead & ten wounded
the police chief proclaims
it’s a peaceful city
but this is the twenty-first century
& anything is possible
the flattening of architecture
the eradication of human groups
the barbarity of technology
the weaponization of
outer space
hours later
church bells ring loud in all
the downtown churches
huge doors opening & shutting
the fat lady singing from the balcony
yellow tape & chalk outlines
I look & listen for some sort of sign
and wonder about her
april two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I tell myself I can’t write poetry like that
that my voice just won’t obey
what the mind wants to imitate
and even though I once was a blackbird
my voice will sing no more
isolated by accident
I consider knives & scissors & fingernail
cutting up a past by creating
jagged shapes out of paper
and new definitions out of thin air
how the pieces get put back together
is out of my control
for there are more compelling things
to consider as we cross over the line
april two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s a daily occurrence
having to deal with the noise
that time makes
a constant churning
like making ice cream
in the garage
on a summer afternoon
on days like these
it’s easy to lose identity
picking up on vibes
like knowledge & belief
having been everywhere
spooning in the salt
making a new sound
april two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
shadows in the open field
keep running toward the sun
the hair of the ghosts
blowing in the opposite direction
courtesy of westerly gusts
these hills haven’t burned
for more than four centuries
old world ideas rekindling
the adjacent forest
ancient & anxious to impress
a collision is inevitable
the outcome undeterminable
ashes redefining themselves
by way of a circular wind
the scent of the air palpable
april two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
today’s glass
wiped of memories
eliminated by tanks since
destroyed
yesterday’s was
half empty
scattered thoughts
incapable of
piecing together a single thing
tomorrow’s glass
is yet to exist
its contents incubating
awaiting on a toast
to the victor
goes the spoils
boo/hiss to the insatiable
april two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
shots fired in the tourist district
a stampede in the streets
just past midnight
the eyes of children fearless & furious
peer through casement windows
though brighter than the morning light
they dare not stare too long
lest they go blind
sirens & flashing lights & gunshots
feet running & cars screaming
confusion reigns & becomes supreme
bodies pretend to sleep
just past midnight
the eyes of children fearless & furious
regaining count of all the sheep
refuge & solace sought after
who will offer comfort
in this chaos
as if thrown into a make-believe mob
they act without instruction
moonshine barely noticeable
spotting bullet casings
just past midnight
the eyes of children fearless & furious
rewinding & replaying
april two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
from the four corners of the world
the effigy business is alive & well
tonight’s moon will be copper in color
complementing the fiery flames
dancing up the stake
the cancel club is hard at work
recruiting new members &
identifying new targets like a child
flipping through a toy catalog
behind the scenes
in garages & basements & inside
the minds of newly born royalty
the likenesses are growing in number
misaligned & lighting up the night sky
april two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
sometimes it’s about
not even trying
losing yourself like a leaf
loses its birthplace
only to discover
that the letting go
couldn’t have been
any easier
how easy is it for you
to fall to the ground
defenseless
at the mercy of the winds
of fire & rain
the everlasting moon
your only friend
giving & taking light
lightning crashes
dramatic randomness
will you be there
right on the spot
a specific place in time
is it a coincidence
or queer luck of the draw
determined at birth
april two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I buy my eggs from a lady outside of Palo
a short drive from here that can be reached
by way of three different routes
even though she lives on an acreage
in a modest ranch style house
with a couple of outbuildings
I tell people I only buy farm fresh eggs
she’s got chickens too
probably pigeons & field mice
& so many other cast out critters
once a year she sells me a few 10-pounders
I stash them away in the basement freezer
where they eventually disappear
on the kitchen counter is where I keep my eggs
all differently sized & colored
their eggshells thin & dirty
sitting pretty inside their recycled cubicles
april two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s not going to end well if they can’t cross the river
son saying independence day is any day now
daughter stitching an eye back in dolly
they built sutliff bridge where they did for good reason
having been damaged only recently
the local astronomer sends them another way
it’s either a death trap or the ultimate tipping point
& though contradictory on the surface
what happens next makes perfect sense
april two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
always on the run misfortune separates a thousand lifetimes
we’ve met before
how many centuries past
however brief
suddenly standing before me
destined to my wife
there is much in store
as we settle upon a land
foreign to us
blues skies & fertile soil
designed by nature’s law
from this day forth
we shall never part again
not by life or death
neither by nature’s wrath
nor man’s unjust wars
march two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
where do you start the story
a constant change
the river rises
& she falls
there is no beginning
but the ending is all but certain
a colossal possibility
like wings crafted by dædalus
you sit alone bewildered
wondering what’s
behind the eyes
of the sun
a story rich in ancestry
reworked & rewritten
ever unfolding & far reaching
like a flashmob of angels
march two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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