I’m losing my eyesight
it’s been a slow process
transpiring since
the day I was born
a genetic reality passed on
by nobody’s fault of their own
as a lesser prophet
my visions are my voice
and whether or not
you like what I say
the darkening of my peripheral
has no consequence of the word
december two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there are pieces everywhere
inside & out they are strewn about
perhaps it’s best
they stay that way
it’s not my mess
but that doesn’t mean I don’t care
doesn’t mean I may not consider
picking them up & putting
them back together
there’s a difference between
keeping someone artificially propped up
and allowing them to fall
time & time again
but for the last time I tell you
these ever elusive pieces
[you so carelessly let go]
can easily be found en masse
in the air & the land & the sea
december two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’m at your mercy
it’s always been this way
ever since my very first breath
who you may be
is constantly changing
adding to my ongoing confusion
your whereabouts
are never exactly known
coming & going at your leisure
at times undetectable
once for so many years on end
I came to believe you were nothing
until it was too late
december two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it was a shock to the body
a rude awakening if you will
plunging headlong into the well
twisting & turning & falling fast
I swear I have been here before
breathing easily underwater
eyes wide open & seeing clearly
sixty seventy eighty feet & counting
there was no end in sight
which is exactly how it should be
buried treasures such as these
are not meant to be found easily
december two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there’s a ghost in every machine
and the smarter the machine becomes
the more dangerous the ghost
december two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
how many have you killed
through no fault of your own
or brought back to life
with your own hands
each & every one adorable
in their own peculiar way
like a rescue dog
or adopted child
blindly trusting
in your god-like eyes
no thanks to you
they grow stronger year
after year
especially once
seeing them through
the worst of times
december two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
mile marker twenty-three
oh how well I know the on-ramp
five minutes after quitting time
as I merge on you ask me
how it went last friday night
I say it was absolutely great
though I don’t recall much of it
the usual suspects weaving
in and out of four lanes
I don’t even notice that I notice
tail lights & license plates in my
line of vision
right foot pumping & pulling back
taking in every detail of your
road trip to Kalamazoo
I’ve got you speaking
right out of the bose speakers
your voice digitally enhanced
as I take the ess curve at
sixty-five miles per hour
staying side-by-side with those
to the right & to the left of me
at off-ramp number forty-five
we know the signal weakens
and so we let each other go
hoping to connect another time
december two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s a quarter past seven
anything is game now
lights flipping on & off
candles waiting in the wings
juices beginning to flow
it’s a quarter past seven
anything is game now
soft music playing louder
waning luna lost in space
energy levels rise & fall
it’s a quarter past seven
anything is game now
december two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there was one distraction after the next
but somehow progress was being made
custodians sweeping up a huge mess
left behind by the reluctant loser
one by one the followers dropped off
by way of a single lane bridge
herded away like cattle or sheep
counting their blessings along the way
having discovered another side exists
more & more city folk pack their bags
looking to join the blossoming pilgrimage
back to the land of grass-fed cows
december two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there comes a day
when nothing is left
not a single drop of water
not a scrap of this
or a piece of that
not a solitary thought
lingering in the air
nobody is home
to answer the phone
it rings off & on
for days on end
until eventually
ceasing to exist
what will become
of this place
once the pintails have
run out of bread
and the river has run dry
december two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
On the southside of Gianna’s Italian Beef
there grows a young Hackberry
a story & a half tall
barenaked this early December
fifty or eighty Black-Capped Chickadees
voluntarily filling in
all her empty spaces
fervently chattering at four forty-five pm
december two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I step out the front door
it used to always be unlocked
during normal business hours
I check my pockets for keys
let the damn thing
swing shut behind me
there are far fewer cars
pedestrians & pigeons
vying for my attention
equating to less noise
and more sounds
block in & block out
from point A
it’s just a few more blocks
to the river
does anyone not notice
how it ebbs & flows
depending upon the mood
of all the invisible people
december two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is anger in your voice
out of nowhere it reappears
a burst of emotion
intense but short-lived
like an exploding firework
it resolves itself
without any explanation
an inner code
hidden but passed on
by someone you likely
have never known
there is much research
yet to be done
and so you retreat
back to solitary confinement
to your white chalk & blackboard
december two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
as old stories unravel
new possibilities begin
artfully rewriting your own
character
right there in the streets
of portland oregon
some catch on early
seeing right through the fabric
of santa & the great pumpkin
of organized religion
or the deep state itself
[while far too many others
fall for the latest mousetrap]
it stands to reason
one mistruth leads to another
but at some point
all good things must come to an end
imagine now
everything you ever imagined
never belonged to you
december two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve confronted death before
or was it vice versa
I do not recall
I remember being unafraid
and to the trees surrounding me
I said you will be my witness
then the north wind did blow
aiding me to my feet
and it was at that moment
I began to understand
the silence of the woods
the heart never truly heals
it simply seeks to regenerate
like the flora of the forest
november two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we got in the car
and made a beeline downtown
it was almost december
and it was goddamn cold
the northwest wind
having gone crazy all afternoon
I had the capital
and you had the road map
a big fat beaver moon
illuminating our every move
everyone knew the aliens
had the best microdust
the trick you said
was all in the translation
I’d been underground before
but not in the inner city
and as we continued
to descend further
an inner emotional voice
kept telling me to fear not
november two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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