PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

My time has passed on the Western front from where I once had passed that great river of rocks,

falling, falling and passing by an island.

There I attempted to climb and expand my mind.

The old brick buildings and paved cobblestone avenues that led to dead ends and arcadias

where I would look out and see cities all playing four-square with each other,

a scene repeated from histories of old time gamblers,

who could barely afford to ford the m-i-s-s-i-s-s-i-p-p-i.

Up the hill, up the hill, I’d toil still in neon light of the night

and techno beats out in the streets where they would go

to take a piss or pass out or puke.

Sometimes the Ghetto would steal our T.V.'s at night and we couldn’t do anything about it because we had money that they didn’t have.

Trying to coach my ghost into waking up sober after a night of drinking everclear I swear made heads disappear

and I saw strangers reappear in the blink of my eye.

Vampires. Night-walkers, Baby-faced Freshmen smoking weed on the porch.

Froshbabes dressed like hordes of hookers,

if only they were marketing themselves on Marquette Street; but they still got devoured on Locust.

Majors and Minors, young and old alike

I watched Orion's Belt latch slowly in the night air of autumn, at least his pants never fall.

Everyone looked hard to find something that went missing, but figured that kissing each others' insides bides time just fine.

Solitude enters the cup of my spirit and I can hear it, it talks to me.

Here I go walking.

Legs down the hill.

The party has passed.

Movement.

All things go.

So now I follow myself back down, to the town where better minds than mine think idly of ideas I won’t be a part of or even play a piano to.

One foot after another, shadow sinking shallow.

Throwing darts at parts I used to be able to hit blindfolded, my senses now numbered.

I missed the heart by a mile.

The Mississippi's mist is

heavy pressed

in heaving breath

as leaving death,

to come walk with me,

circling some sad spot

of nightmare wanderings:

one more step down the rocky road.