Category Archives: poetry

The Circus


We ran away to join the circus.

She would be an acrobat.

I would fly in the trapeze.

On horseback, she would leap through hoops of fire

While I would gaily juggle knives. and

She would twist her arms and legs, and

I would make the great cats dance.

With dreams of fame and glory we ran

From the small town where we lived

Through the corn fields and the apple orchards

The sweet smells of fall.

Past the great oak tree and the river

Where I used to fish with Jeremiah

To the edge of the forest where the calliope lured us

To the company of Mr. Smiley

Who painted toothy grins on us with

rusty blade and hid our tongues in the forest.

Dressed in bloodstained clothes far too big

He made us dance and fall and stumble

Like drunken puppets every night for his show.

The show! How the audience of coyotes

and crickets cheered and howled

Until the circus ended and Mr. Smiley left us alone

Snug and cold together within the soft ground where we slept

Until beckoned again by the sounds of the calliope

We wake from our slumber and come forth to find

Another boy or girl to join our merry troop of mirth.

Nothing more to say…


There is really nothing to say anymore.

Two more dead bodies. Two more families crying. Friends mourning. Bodies buried. Soon to be nothing more than a statistic to most people.

Sympathies sent. So sorry. Nothing to be done. Could have happened to anyone. But it didn’t. It happened to you.

Your family just won the deadly national lottery this time. No money. Just pain to carry with you forever. Empty chair at holidays. A dinner plate left in the cupboard.

If this were a warzone, you’d get a state burial and flag, but it’s the greatest country on Earth, so you get nothing. Unless one of your neighbors brings you a casserole.

Don’t politicize it.

Don’t blame the gun.

I don’t. I blame the apologists. I blame the co-conspirators. I blame the accomplices that made it so easy for angry young men and women to arm themselves with the engine of death. Death dealing is profitable, so the cycle goes on.

A lottery with no winners, but the ones that profit from human misery.

Nothing more to say.

God damn it all.

Insomnia


2:30 am.

Haven’t slept. Thinking about the future. Sick to my stomach.

Anxiety or bad food? Heartburn or heart attack? Guess we’ll see which if I wake up or not.

Fuck.

Kids are sleeping. Peaceful. Happy.

Awake. Thinking of their future. Too many worst case scenarios to think of. I hope they’re never like this. Awake at 2:40 worrying. That my issues don’t screw them up. Anxiety that I already have.

Never peace. Only moments of less anxiety.

Close my eyes. Try to sleep. Seems like forever. Clock says it was 5 minutes.

Fuck.

Hope I don’t fall asleep at work. Heart beating fast now.

Probably anxiety. Always anxiety.

Fuck.

Try to fall asleep. Rest.

Feeling sick again. Morning comes too quickly. Still…awake.

Fuck.