Author: asoulinprogress

These River Cities

old (#1)

We’re overlooking the river when
I tell you about how it took me three years
to discover Ann Arbor has a river.

It was a story that ended
With a woman proclaiming
“These river cities.”

You enjoyed it
I could feel your joy and admiration
Explode off your skin like solar flares

I almost kissed you
Almost again

But I held back.
(I play it safe with my body, not so much with my heart)
After the first missed opportunity I promised
To not let it slip by me again but I did
I held back a second time.

It would have been a beautiful moment
Wondrous and mystic
Which I happen to prefer over the mundane and drunken

When I kiss you
I won’t be stoned
And I won’t be drunk

When I kiss you

Me? I’m Jus Dancin.

old (#1)

She was quick with me twice,
And dismissive twice.
And so utterly confused, uncertain, and befuddled once
That all I could think to do was
Walk away…

Me? I’m jus dancin.

The View from the Alley

old (#0)

. These here are uncommon waters these here are things never encountered. These here are a sit of circumstances never encountered and never planned for. Here there be dragons and monsters and things unplanned and unanticipated. These here be crisis and discontent and blind stumbling down an ugly destructive path. These here be cold hearts. These here be mild interest and, again, self destruction. Hopes gone with the last beer with the last shot. These here be callous inconsideration and misguided dreams. Here be self-interest and unknowing hatred. Unknowing ill-regard. Unknowing non-friends but mostly blind disregard made manifest by the last clutching for meaning. Here there be the you that hurt me. Deliberately. Coldly. Menacing. In blurs. In quick cuts and mostly in ignorance. And delightful callous egocentric blasphemy and cold. The cold that cuts like paper and burns just as readily. Unseen by you, but felt by me, Here there be dragons.

The Storm

Introduction

UPDATE: Thursday, July 5, 2012 8:49:33 AM. I just noticed that this poem was marked private, I guess from the beginning, I have no idea why—maybe because it sucks. I’m opening it up to the public now, and perhaps I’ll fix it sometimes.

Main Content

There is a storm gathering behind me
wanting to surround and envelop me
billowing dark clouds sneak up waiting
for their chance to explode
lightning strikes burst from the edges
the glowing buzz a warning—
a rattle snake about to strike

my chest clenches around cold agitation
threatening to take my words
I need to scream or I’ll loose my voice
and go unnoticed and unrecognized forever

my thighs tighten and burn
urging a quick getaway from
the now monstrous storm front

that cuts off my escape route
I turn and turn again but the agile
clouds envelop me
I spin in a mad twirl
looking for a break in the clouds
a frenzied search for silence

the storm solidifies, becoming a concrete cell
I pound at the walls and tear at the cracks
but it closes in

my voice echos in isolation
my body tense and my throat burns
as my words are ripped away

I burn alone voiceless in the void

By the time the bar closes

old (#1)

Introduction

UPDATE: Thursday, July 5, 2012 8:58:07 AM. I just noticed that this poem was marked private, from the onset. I must have been embarrassed, or ashamed, or I didn't want people to worry. Opening it up now.

Main Content

By the time the bar closes
I will be four hours older
and four hours drunker.

I will be four hours more disillusioned
and four hours more lonely

By the time I stumble along the aimless streets
nicely buzzed and nicely angrily alone
heading for a cluttered home that matches my cluttered mind
I will be four hours more destitute and angry

and I can only hope to pass out before I have time to think
and remember and ruminate on the shaggy sorry state that
I have created for myself.

by the time the bar closes
I will be four hours closer
to an answer I don’t want to know