The Poetry Warrior (c) Abigail Beaudelle - 2008.
All Poetry and artwork (c) the respective artists.
All Poetry and artwork (c) the respective artists.
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The Anxiety of Waking Up After Blacking Out
Jason 'Juice' Hardung
Waking up like a child
shaking the dust from my wings.
Lighting a cigarette the sun coming in.
My cat sitting in the window.
The birds flitting in their nest like they could give a shit less.
Another regular morning
except for the ashtray mouth and the jackhammer
building highways in my temples.
Eventually
images of last night begin to appear
one by one
a fast edit of scenes
in a movie trailer
before the feature we paid so much for.
The upturned faces of clowns
tapping glasses to toast almost anything of unimportance
and memories that never mattered until now.
Glances feigned crossing the bathroom line.
I am general George and
the Delaware is cold and wet tonight
let me not fall in
not tonight at least.
I laid the dollar bills in the hands of the tender
bar room sticky floors make it hard to dance.
The lights on the ceiling pound
and so did our internal combustion heart ache engines
toothy smiles locking like freight train cars in the roundhouse.
One misunderstanding is all it took and then
the teeth of wolves
gnashed at the throat of the moon.
Fists and words cut to the pearl of bone.
Sirens appeared
not the kind that are pretty and sing in Greek mythology
but the kind that flash big shadows on the sides of abandoned buildings.
They still sing but more like a dog in heat.
You sitting on the curb with your head in your hands.
A long walk home
I awake alone
in brand new gold satin sheets
that i bought to impress you.
Jason 'Juice' Hardung
Waking up like a child
shaking the dust from my wings.
Lighting a cigarette the sun coming in.
My cat sitting in the window.
The birds flitting in their nest like they could give a shit less.
Another regular morning
except for the ashtray mouth and the jackhammer
building highways in my temples.
Eventually
images of last night begin to appear
one by one
a fast edit of scenes
in a movie trailer
before the feature we paid so much for.
The upturned faces of clowns
tapping glasses to toast almost anything of unimportance
and memories that never mattered until now.
Glances feigned crossing the bathroom line.
I am general George and
the Delaware is cold and wet tonight
let me not fall in
not tonight at least.
I laid the dollar bills in the hands of the tender
bar room sticky floors make it hard to dance.
The lights on the ceiling pound
and so did our internal combustion heart ache engines
toothy smiles locking like freight train cars in the roundhouse.
One misunderstanding is all it took and then
the teeth of wolves
gnashed at the throat of the moon.
Fists and words cut to the pearl of bone.
Sirens appeared
not the kind that are pretty and sing in Greek mythology
but the kind that flash big shadows on the sides of abandoned buildings.
They still sing but more like a dog in heat.
You sitting on the curb with your head in your hands.
A long walk home
I awake alone
in brand new gold satin sheets
that i bought to impress you.