That vibration has come again if I were a car a driver might say there’s an issue with the spark or with the compression because judging from the size of my tank there’s plenty of fuel
I’m suffering from disjointed dreams pillows slicked with drool jerking awake every few hours to pee like I’d had a marathon boozer but all I had was water so plain as to make me thirsty water hardly able to cut the heavy phlegm in my throat
these are my symptoms I take it outside try to give my throbbing nostrils some open-air exercise walk the bike-throttled streets maniacs throwing up thin sheets of gutter water while trees drip onto sentinel pumpkins disfigured on every doorstep
my joints have all taken offense led by the sesamoid setting-off my right big toe every step a prelude to a revolution now my knee now my hip distracted stepping into a puddle and wouldn’t you know the resulting chill is not a balm
huddled at home suffering the secondary fever of broadcast television all fat and sugar with no texture like eating whipped butter unsalted and prone to melt leaving nothing but ache upstairs and guilt below
eyes have ignited probing the abundance of nothing for a thin sense of sedation but there’s not even sedition my sinuses are stuffed with unwashed cotton and my bed cold cobblestones echoing each shift I make with a skeletal creak
a poet from Seattle Washington USA. His poetry has appeared in print in publications such as Bellowing Ark, Point Nopoint, and most recently in Contraposition magazine. When not writing poetry he is a Human Resources professional, a repentant glutton, and a novelist specializing in the weird-fiction genre.
skeletal bones in the hidden residue to escape with its fashionable decorum hidden inside there is a map a scroll to tell us where is the buried treasure turn right on interpass twelve quick left passed the brook under an
Whereby: The scent of your breath love dances like a butterfly. Drenched in your raining desire lush spring awaits. Yearnings whispered vigorously. The sun kissed golden season’s ancient story filled with certainty and uncertainty. Every word I utter reflects you.
Autumn is our conscience. Vast expanse of blue sky nurses it, white clouds occasionally cover it up, cool air quickly cleans the blockade. Autumn is short lived. It wears peaceful colors. Monk like contemplation wraps it up by logic and