I Have Something You Want to Hear
I have been ripped apart
I have been torn apart
I am a good poet
I have been embarrassed and
shunned
I have been treated like a joke
and turned down more times
then I can count; I have been zero
in the eyes of teachers and editors,
I have been nothing without the choice
to care. I am a poet. Read my work.
You will see. I am a poet.
On The Corner
of Garson and Main,
where he comes
up to me every time,
asking if I will pay for
his addiction. I do
every time, without
giving him a single dime
We shop at the same store
after all.
Yeast
a living organism
that feeds on fermentable
sugars
transforming them
to beverage alcohol
and congeners
carbon dioxide and heat
and also the feeling I get
in the pit of my gut
when we hear each other’s
chests, while watching a movie
on the couch
You Finished
my sentences with notes
of barley, water and time
lingering on
The way a damn good
Kentucky bourbon
says goodbye
Your Hair Glowed
in the moonlight
as a Glencairn
would, filled
with Irish whiskey
the colour of freshly
minted copper
Bound
by bonds for family
and the land they killed
for, yet here to leave
at any moment—without
a trace; I was born
on the borders of clouds, missing
everything that touches the Earth.
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image: George Payne
