Tag Archives: loss

Making Waves — a poem in free verse

Making Waves

Truth is something

You can’t always see.

A stone dropped

In an unconscious ocean,

A letter written

But never sent,

Pigtails mid-bounce

Caught on a jump rope.

Truth is the story told

To the sleeping child,

A shard piercing

Luminiferous ether.

Truth is in the silence between

A husband and wife.

Truth is disappointing lace.

Truth is 16 years.

Beetroot.

Coleslaw.

Tears.

Truth is a noxious gas;

Plague doctors with beak masks.

Truth circles Black holes,

It is dandelion fruits

On the air.

Truth is something you

Won’t

See

Here.

–AEW

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Senryu: Break

I want to forget

Comic books in Camden Town,

Wide eyes, trains & lies.

By AE Wallace


The Lightness of Being Me

Oh I was binary,

In orbit,

Slave to a celestial joy

caught up in once-upon-time,

Text lies, pizza boxes & corsets.

Knocked out by a quasar,

Sobering sense at cocktail hour,

I heard the Word that made me whole;

The Big Bang of truth in a forgotten date.

Set me free.

A.E. Wallace


Kerouac Rules for Spontaneous Prose #19

wpid-IMG_20131017_091711.jpg

 

19. Accept loss forever

Keys. Goddamned lost my keys. Everything in those keys. Stability, freedom, tranquillity, worldly wealth, the words on my papers that tell me who I am–what I am–who I will be at some point if I live that long—or who will get what if I do not. I reach in to my childhood for St. Anthony to come and search for those keys—to let me in the house—to help me let the dogs out—to let me use the bathroom—to sleep.

Keys are beautiful—dangled, distracting my crying baby boy–Tinkling in summer wind through art room window at college—keys dangling from the wood beam, holding within them locked away memories in long ago houses from some time that was but will never be again. Forgotten rooms, elapsed moments, long ago lust, hidden away Spector in stasis–precious things– keys all rusting away in some man’s utility drawer; expendable like so many disremembered names of those that faded away when pain expired.

I stand accused of not being bothered because I cannot access my mail– those All important missives laden with requirements that sit just within the locked door. I lost my keys.

The locksmith will come anyway.


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