I walked into the room, my face devoid of any emotion but my fear on a rampage inside my mind. Would he think I was taking advantage of her? Would he believe that I did not love her?
Mr. Bennet stood as I entered and bowed slightly. I followed suit and waited for his interrogation.
He stared at me before seating himself and speaking. "Good morning, Mr. Darcy."
"Good morning, Mr. Bennet, sir." I have to admit that my voice sounded a bit shaky as I spoke.
He motioned to a chair across from him, but I refused. "Thank you, sir, but I'll remain standing."
"Very well," he nodded. "May I ask what brings you to see me this morning?"
I inhaled a
The bunker library was silent, apart from the turning of pages and clacking of computer keys, as you and the brothers scoured for information on whatever creature or creatures you were hunting. In a three month period, seven people, male and female, had gone missing from the local train station, but there were no bodies, no prints, nothing but a smell of decayed earth and flesh. The only clue was that each victim had been on the last train out of Chicago, IL, which was around 2:30am, and hadn’t been seen since. The police department in town were less than helpful and didn’t really seem to be taking the matter seriously, thinking a
My tongue swells like a gallows
and sticks to the roof of
my mouth each time I say deliverance.
The doctor says it is only
temporary and that I will
get over it in time.
Some mornings I wake up as a
poet - a random man of bones
and meat, clattering down the
sidewalks, hardly breathing
and afraid to move too quickly.
Once I fried an egg on the battery
of my car because I wanted to
see the summer heat rise up
like angels and tangle in the
power lines, knowing I am God's annointed.
The nurse says it's ridiculous,
that I should know better
that morphine will not kill me
and I can still step on cracks
without the world slippin
The lovely violence
of your words -
desperate feedback
where I sit on the train
wondering why this city
rolls its streets in
so early.
You were innocent -
except for that sigh
that swung between your hips;
and I swear I
never saw it coming -
blank verse and vowels
left trembling
and all your gods
come out to play.
...
Nowhere to run
The over lords
Have total control
Crazy train
Down below
All is like an onion
With many layers
Between the center
Where all is real
Dreaming a dream
Time has faded
The light glows dim
Soon to be alone
In the darkness
The scent of longing
in this glass -
and your skin,
petals rubbing raw;
the sound of water
on the glass-
your face turning away
as you lick your lips
and my tongue
traces wine
across your hips.
That hush of want
disappearing in the soft crush
of morning gone astray.
I was there
for that Jesus thing -
the trick of light
with the loaves and fishes,
and all the lost souls
wandering far from home
and we sinners speaking
words that never
found their way.
I saw the nails,
the thorns,
the bruises every man
mistook for duty;
the blood that gathered -
solemn and somnolent
beneath the wood and roses -
and that rock,
hanging like a prayer
someone never mentioned.
Attention Walmart Shoppers by Poetrymann, literature
Literature
Attention Walmart Shoppers
Each corner of the place
tells me to turn back
(it seems there was an upset
somewhere in aisle seven
right behind the tramadol and tampons
you slid discretely
in your purse.)
Why would I judge you
for that coffee in your hand
or the taste
of rampage left hiding on the shelves?
The stock boy stares at your legs
as you push your cart
past a mother
heaving chlorox
and her babies
in a basket
and wonders if one day
he too will grow into
a man who can
love dangerously.
The cashier
smiles at me
hungrily, fingers cupping coins
into my palm,
my lettuce wilting
in the strange buzzing light.