the stage is set
all the players in place
the guns go off
off they go running
right out of the gate
the powers above
picking & choosing
the ones who live
all the others dead
or downright dying
destroyed this time
by hyper-dynamite
the stage is reset
players back in place
appropriately
dress in red
april two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
foot tapping
one two three four five
meditating
for good measure
incubating ideas
germinated long ago
the big cheese
stolen in broad daylight
a pack of blind mice
drawing straws
contemplating
mass murdering
the hash pipe
always out of sight
in a shoe
an ashtray
the junkiest of drawers
in the kitchen
getting closer
warmer then colder
back & forth
tile or carpet or wood
the hatching
a surprise ending
april two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
your mother has brown skin
mine has none
your brother looks like me
[but you]
you look like no one else
your mother
she has amazing skin
sometimes a complete blur
dancing circles in the falling rain
your sister’s a younger version
[of you know who]
as independent as they come
working on dance moves
of her very own
your mother has brown skin
and mine has none
april two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I thought it was Good Friday
so I pulled a Cod filet from the freezer
leaving it to thaw in the strainer
Once at room temperature
I thought I would soak it in a mixture
of Amber Ale & a scrambled egg
coat it w/crumbled Frosted Flakes
I imagined I would pan sear it
in Olive Oil & a pat of butter
serve it w/a chunk of homemade bread
It was supposed to be my Last Supper
but for whatever reason
I don’t remember a Goddamn Thing
april two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
plastic or aluminum
in any shape or form
the various guns
these little ones carry
are temporarily bulletless
[at least for the moment]
like a thumb & forefinger
positioned & poised
in some stylish manner
—they later find
themselves safely abed
curled into the fetal position
warmly dreaming of
pistols at dawn
april two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I was the little one
maybe the runt
wide awake
[while the others slept]
painting the walls
there was no need for brushes
as long as I had two hands
& eight fingers
no need for interpretation
as long as the walls
were well lit
by the time the sun
started showing herself
I was nowhere to be found
—which of course was when
all the fun began
april two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’m less than I’ve ever been
an exercise of existence
after reading how german is it
hearing they bought & sold you
I quickly crossed the border
leaving way too many things behind
this new place isn’t so bad
[or so they keep telling me]
placating me with promises
plying me with
mind-altering substances
intelligently keeping me
one to three moves behind
april two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
in the passenger seat
clicking the present tense
mile after endless mile
history in the rearview
passing me by in real time
random projections traveling
at ninety miles per hour
at this speed I imagine
I’ll shortly reach my destination
the one mapped out at birth
according to the universe
april two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
man’s inventions
handed down by the gods
original sin having nothing to do
with mother nature
as a child seems to make sense
but when facing danger
is meaningless
I submit to the reality of the day
the eventual decline of
natural resources
exploited & consumed voraciously
in order to selfishly live out
your remaining days
inside a brand new world
march two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
not too deep beneath the surface
I am being called to action
a map left on a coffee table
the airport an hour away
there is a great distance between
today & buried treasure
subconsciously stumbled upon
while whistling with the wind
if you ever see me again
likely I’ll be unrecognizable
perhaps a little younger
more than likely more sensible
march two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I repeat myself
at the risk of sounding old
like the toy dinosaur
stuffed inside the davenport
left there as a surprise
by the mischievous one
the one who tells me
this one is a carnivore
that one an herbivore
in the grander scale of things
they’ve not been gone
that long
some coming back to life
in living rooms
backyards & museums
the silver screen
some discovered on
castaway islands
I repeat myself
at the risk of sounding old
— what did you say
we couldn’t hear you —
they plead to be told a story
the one when you were a little girl
and the earth herself
was the size
of a silver blue jewel
march two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Best to become invisible
in times like these.
Everybody knows that.
― Jason Reynolds, Long Way Down
my numbness is not
comfortable at all
it is a nondescript void
like a beautiful landscape
hidden by an expanding fog
spreading north & south
and east & west
its deafening denseness
placing a stranglehold
on coherent thought
a lingering listlessness
tearing the world apart
march two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’d told them to take it away
that I didn’t want to see it anymore
and so they did
after a while I told them to take
the other thing away
and so they did
I was getting good at giving orders
surprised they so easily
obeyed my commands
soon it was one thing after another
and at a certain point
I’d told them I was tired
and they quietly withdrew from my sight
in the morning the birds did not sing
and the sun did not usher in the dawn
I turned on the light
and looked around the room
none of the things
that I had ordered away the night before
were actually gone
I had commanded only to myself
march two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve lost sight of the end game
due to reasons beyond my control
if you could see what I see
it would be death & destruction
cast upon the many by the hands of a few
it’s as if a monster tornado
has ripped through sleepy little towns
leaving them leveled & burning
for days on end
forget the nuclear tactical weapons
conveyed from one place to the next
they’ve not the power to take my sight
even though I can see no more
with my very own eyes
march two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the lost
& the forgotten
blinded by the wind
never to return again
repeating the pilgrimage
in the back of my mind
the night
turns into silence
the scattering clouds
revealing new satellites
blinking like a rising star
signaling the next move
march two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the road to nowhere
is paved in dirt with gravel shoulders
— it is as good as any to get someplace
you’ve never been
there is no vegetation nor water
along the way
and since you don’t know how far
the road to nowhere goes
it’s best to be prepared
do not whistle along the way
it’ll only make you thirstier
and surely do not sing
for it is unclear what dangers
you may attract
walk as fast as you can
but do not run
lest the eyes looking down at you
may sense that you are fearful
and as vulnerable as all the others
march two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 