By: Jon Carter

don’t think

how long must
the soul remain
unfed-

the leafless trees
are pale yellow mirages
of themselves
of the spring
stoic atop frosted hills…

…but on the bus when I close my
eyes I make them
go away-
power? no, only perception.

opening my eyes again, everything is there,
the sky is pink against the horizon, then
rolling smooth overhead to purple,
blue, black,
smooth like glass,
uninterrupted
by even the stars
even the moon

even my thoughts
down here.

do those skeletal images
shimmering like
chandeliers
on frozen peaks
contemplate the sky
or me or the bus rolling by them,
or anything for that matter?

or are they concerned only
with survival-
concentrating all their will
to making it back to a time when
they can thrive
again.

which am I,
are we?…

###

poem 120

I get this sense
it’s all building to something

and it makes me fucking nervous.

where did I come from?
why do I do this?

jail, addiction, death-
I’ve climbed with bloody
hands back into it for
what?

I’m leftovers
in the back of God’s fridge
being saved for
what?

when the time comes
will I live up
to what I’ve been
thru?

I can’t sleep again,
tossing and turning under the blanket/

/under the ongoing explosion and
expanse
of planets and
stars

fueling the universe
around us.

###

happy

today
the birds’ songs are
less brutal.
I can almost imagine them saying

kind things about me walking down
the street
with warm yellow light tucked
into my palms

and

fresh picked purple opium
soothing my stomach.
I caught myself smiling
at a woman at the store

and she even smiled back.
some days, like today,
you can feel the
good news coming.

days like today it hurts less
to be patient,
the pain is dull and
the spirit

is high.