Duane Vorhees writes

ONE ALMOST HAD IT ALL

Never a father.

Mom gone at 6, God at 10,

and friends undependable.

By 14 he was abandoned

by ambition

                                    i.e. greed

                                    i.e. rage

                                    i.e. desire

and then by caution,

then by expectation;

all restraining Order

shed throughout adolescence.

And so, at 20, finally,

                        the sage

released his winged virginity,

his last fettered vestige of convention,

and, thus, root- and boot- less,

unworldly godfree the youth

                                                w/o hope

                                                w/o remorse

poised on the ledge,

readied himself –

the world his world for the grasping,

that turquoise marble.

Well past his middle now

the weary cynic

stays

incomplete,

unshuckable;

a last aging snakeskin

contains him yet,

cuffs him to illusion,

thwarts his liberty.

Diamond innocence

alas

still clings,

its flinty integrity

intact.

Dismal.

Inviolate.

Sufia Khatoon paints

Casimir Wojciech writes

THERE ARE NO BIRDS SINGING, HOWEVER

i'm combing through

my grandmother's recipes for answers

,

windows 

open

,

voices

exit

,

cool & alone

,

if i could tell you what it means

to be sitting here listening to the rain fall

;

;

;

(against the secret distance inside all things)

bottles clink

lightning cracks

everybody stops bleeding

 

Ian Copestick writes

A Curse

It's a curse that affects those of my generation

The constant search for new sensations

New drinks, powders potions and pills

Feeling better and better until we fell ill

It's that old, old story of drugs and addiction

I thought it was probably 50% fiction

Peddled by the authorities to scare people straight

I thought I was clever enough to avoid my fate

But I'm not much smarter than any other smack head

Just enough to avoid jail and not to be dead

The consequences are there for the rest of my days

I have to stay in control of my actions, my ways

It's there all the time and it won't disappear

But I got off lightly, at least I'm still here

I can't say that much for too many of my friends

I've still got a chance to choose how my life ends.

 

The Ghost of a Heroin Addict -- Margaret Pepper