“Fight Club Redux”
--aka “it’s your own damn fault if it’s spoiled; the movie’s been out for ages”
in the darkness, the grass glitters
with crystallized condensation
when i walk outside to let
my dog make her mark, as though
the stars vaguely luminescent
in their spheres had fallen to earth
frozen, their heat lost to predawn chill
later i watch Fight Club for the
n-th time, catch myself thinking
how very very nice it would be
to have a friend like Tyler to hang
around with on shitty nights in
a shitty house, or sharing drinks in
a shitty bar, but without the assault
--gut punched by metaphor alone
imagine a friend, even imaginary,
that’s always there through thick, through thin-
ning nights and thinning hair,
trading jokes and insults and
guttural laughter no matter
how many times they’ve heard each
clever wordplay, each dumb pun
someone who listens--does not simply wait
for your part of each conversation
to end, someone like Bob to hug you
with his big-ass bitch tits, or Tyler
with his right hook to greet you.
3D Virtual Reality’s
got nothing on the brain. We can make
ourselves believe, we make ourselves
believe anything - - - -
even that the stars glistening
in the darkened blades of grass
are beautiful despite my canine’s warmly
flowing contribution melting
them before their time, readying
them for a sun they will never
see just beyond that horizon.
*I recently rewatched Fight Club, and though it’s not exactly a Halloween-themed movie, I thought it was close enough for today’s post. Happy Halloween!
If you’d like to read about my progress and plans for this year, as well as craft tips, you can subscribe to my Patreon and support my work for just $1 a month! Until next time, stay safe and well, and read often!
Next Friday, I’ll also post on my Patreon. If you’d like to read about my progress and plans for this year, as well as craft tips, you can subscribe to my Patreon and support my work for just $1 a month! Until next time, stay safe and well, and read often!
“The Unsigned Letter”
“No need to sign since I give it her myself”
the lie you told, hiding your true feelings
in the pocket nearest your beating heart
she described you perfectly yet you saw no hope,
seeing beauty everywhere but in yourself,
you lie concealed behind another’s handsome face,
a poet’s exercise excuses your tear-stained words
divinity of form for a form poet: why can’t you see
the truth of yourself? more than a poem composed,
you are the sonnet that creates itself.
Thanks for stopping by my blog. Check out my Patreon for more of my writing!
I’m thrilled to announce I’ll be reading selections from my book, An Optimist’s Journal of the End of Days and Other Stories, at Barberton Library on Saturday, September 11th at 2pm! I will also be selling and signing copies of the book for those who are interested.
In the meantime, stay safe, stay well, and read often!*inspired by Edmond Rostand’s Cyrano de Bergerac.
“She Who Was the Helmet Maker's Once-Beautiful Wife"
you didn't know what awaited you
when you began the long trek to see your son
bare feet and fallen arches old bones aching
with miles of marching your final journey
all for one more glimpse of your boy
become a man
why bare yourself for the artist's art?
how much more could you have to give?
the tragedy of your worn form outlives your mortality,
the young girl you were forever trapped in iron gray.
*Rodin’s model for She Who Was the Helmet Maker’s Once-Beautiful Wifewas the mother of one of his male models. The photo I used reminded me of a younger version of Rodin’s model, since I was unable to obtain permission for an image of the original sculpture. You can find an image of Rodin’s masterpiece here.