Author: Wayne Everbeck

He can’t remember

Why

The attractive teacher

 

Blasted through

The closet door

 

With passionate rage

Burning like sulfur

From her sockets

 

His breath

Taken away

From the sucker punch

 

He finds comfort

In the violent reaction

 

He gets carried away

By his daydreams

 

But he cannot

Run from his subconscious

 

He is sure

His lust for pain

Had everything to do with it

 

Going back to bed

Is not an option

 

He is going to have to

Deal with the fact

That while awake

 

His life is

Without suffering

 

A hesitation

Makes me question

 

To see if my spelling is correct

 

Glaring at words in a thesaurus

 

The original

Not poetic enough

The process

Altered

 

The instinct versus the allegory

 

The words

Find their way

From a notebook

To a computer anyway

 

 

I digress

To find myself…

 

 

Editing my intuition

 

As if it ever mattered before

 

I can be amazing “dichotomistic”

As if there is a correct answer

 

The judger of language

Will always stare at a

Blank page

 

They are just words

After all

 

Even if they are made up

 

From a safe distance

 

Anxiety sets in

As my sweaty clenched fists

Cross in front of me

 

I seek refuge

 

In my mental isolation chamber which

Distances me from opportunity

While comforting me from possibility

 

Leaving me

Straight jacketed by my own fear

 

My attempt to lash out

Is silenced by my harsh judgment

Knowing it will only showcase my insecurity

 

Therefore

My mind must dissect you

From across the room

 

Beginning at your legs

 

For arm’s length

Is far too close

 

During an unsuspecting battle of wits

 

The next thing

I know

We are shaking hands

 

Saying “It is nice to meet you”

 

 

 

Worry and fret

Get stashed

In the bedside table

 

The darkness

Of the late hour

 

Makes your blurred vision

Temporally meaningless

 

Fighting with your eyelids

Just stalls your reality

From your date with fantasy

 

With your external senses

In dire need of rest

Your mind relaxes and explores itself

 

This is when the best ideas come

Free from pragmatism and structure

 

Every night I make a deal

With the Sandman

 

Exchanging half baked poems,

Delusions of grander and possibilities

 

For a one way ticket

Down the rabbit hole

 

The swap over tired musings

That make inventors wealthy,

Authors captivating, and crazy people

Just that

 

For a restful sleep

And a return to the ordinary

In the AM

 

So next time,

Try to barter with your nighttime friend

Maybe your eye crusties

 

Might just be the genesis for your next poem

 

If you don’t want you shit to stink

I suggest eating roses

Stem first

 

If you can get handle the thorns

The petals will soothe the pain away

 

 

The Alluring acidic aroma

Of decomposing leaves

In a sidewalk gutter

 

Hangs sweetly

As a chilled nose

Inhales

 

Mother Nature’s perfume

 

Ohh

 

What a great excuse

To practice our ratio of

Powdered hot chocolate mix

To heated milk

 

The nectar

Of frost bitten mornings

 

The blend of sunny

Cold days

 

Allows us to appreciate

The warmth outside while it lasts

 

The night lingers

Longingly

Into your morning commute

 

The sounds of your tires

Demolish tricolored leaves

Making a perfect eulogy

 

To the end of an Indian summer

 

 

I don’t get excited about mixing bowls.

I have lived too much life to get moved by such things.

It is refreshing to know that I will not be bummed about the inevitable crack to come.

 

 

One of my gifts

Is best served cold

 

If you inhale my gift

Your brain will freeze

 

If you let it linger

It will melt

 

Sticking to everything

While attracting flies

 

If you use the wooden stick

Provided to you

You will receive splinters

 

If you use a spoon

I pray your tongue freezes to it

 

I can dish out 3 scoops

Of rocky road

 

Before you even realized that

You got served

 

I am like a diabetic entrepreneur

Ice cream truck driver

 

Only a single taste

Of my own medicine

 

Leaves my decayed teeth trembling

And frozen in my Moose Tracks

 

 

The moral being…

 

Before you could dish it out

It must have been forced down your throat.

 

Where else is it

Socially acceptable

 

To dress

Half naked

 

While replacing

Warm layered clothes

 

By sunscreen

Shorts and

Smiles that form organically

 

Relaxing

 

Sleeveless

 

Pant less

 

Flip flopping along

 

Your soul hanging

Between

Your toes

 

Exposure to the untamed earth

Is worth the burn

 

My freckles sing

The song of Spring

 

If our left sided brain

Did not have to be so logical

 

We could easily prove that

These seconds

.     .     .

 

Hold more

Space

Than forgotten years