Posts tagged ‘the horrible side of being human’

July 7, 2019

oddly

by jhon baker
probably contains a poem
June 15, 2019

cope

by jhon baker
August 30, 2015

slowly

by jhon baker

slowly slowly

 

everything is working out

but slowly

I’m a big man getting smaller

but I’ll never be small

I was built for comfort

and post-coital embrace

 

but I corner well

 

 

 

 

September 6, 2011

my own private Elgin, Illinois

by jhon baker

 

the sun is setting now and the leaves aren’t still but luminous, vivid greens and some reds.

verdant splendor of intense color shaded by a myriad of others and backed by intense whites and pinks of gravel driveway.

All images blur and skip frame to frame like an old 8mm.

 

2. (and then again)

all the colors become brilliant and to know what it means.

I gave god the better odds on this one.

loaded a single cartridge into a six-wheel and spun.

my own private Elgin, Illinois,

images blur and frame skip to slow

an old 8mm film

alighting the spirits of

Jack Daniels and Johnnie Walker

an unfinished life

and the poetry of John Berryman.

 

– Hoc Scripsi

September 5, 2011

215643 –

by jhon baker

Trying my hardest today to not bellow and shout, scream at everyone who breathes in my presence. The fault is entirely mine, or at least it is the fault of an unknown source fucking up my tolerance level for people, things, coffee and apt consideration.

Last night – or rather this morning between six and nine thirty I slept. The first real sleep in days not driven by highly charged emotional states and nightmares. and at the moment my wrist is bleeding.

I didn’t harm myself if that is the conclusion the reader has leapt to.

a stab into the wrist from a light construction project in the destruction phase. Well, it is meant to be a light construction/room rehab project but the further I am getting into it the more I am realizing that it is going to need and today I am not up to the task of contemplating how best to accomplish the goal.

what I need is a four in the afternoon nap, some heavy sedation and a beer or bottle of Yukon Jack.

my problems are petty and the coffee is warm.

I can’t write a poem in this mood, flashing downward in a silent movie circa 1928 train wreck and bugs bunny taunting the shotgun in manic high.

squirrels wear a fur coat made of raccoon hide.

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