She knows my failure: it engulfed her.
It left us both washed out in different places.
The grit of nicotine and broken promises painted a
nauseating patina on each.
Maybe now the glow will restore me,
drive away the ghouls of a lost year.
There is a beauty in laugher;
hers is much better than mine.
The fickle face of spring,
smothered in the acrid sensation of summer—
which by definition has yet to begin. I begin the slow ascent
to normal. My legs ache and burn down long hallways.
Breath alludes, breaking me at the middle; my eyes affixed on the shiny, cold ceramic.
Summer is the destroyer.
It crushes young introverts, who seethed at
pool parties and find the sun to be loathsome;
I discover that little changes: I still hate the laughter and humid sun-rays.
A dark room beckons me; the soft hum of air-conditioning is a beautiful idiosyncratic song.
I just picked up several books by Lyn Coffin. “This Green Life: New and Selected Poems” (Transcendent Zero Press) is a wonderful book of poetry. According to her bio, she “is the author of more than thirty books–poetry, fiction, drama.” Her website is Lyn Coffin: One Hand Clapping. I have been particularly inspired by the depth and weight of her poetry. The book is another great release from my friends at Transcendent Zero Press. Dustin Pinkering and Z.M. Wise are exceptional publishers and writers, who seem to bless us all with a wide variety of exciting poetry.
As someone who was greatly influenced by Allen Ginsberg, I found her poem “The Death of Allen Ginsberg” to be particularly touching, the last line reads: “At last he was allowed to disappear.” This collection of poems requires multiple readings and analysis. I would suggest anyone who is as enamored with poetry as myself to pick up a copy of one of her books. One a side note, after meeting Coffin, I found her to be what we expect from great poets, a true individual with a strong voice, cutting her own unique path. I was blessed by the experience and look forward to digging deeper into her writing.
I haven’t been this happy in a long time. The silence of Saturday night used to make me cower and cringe, panic in the restroom and bury myself under covers, waiting breathlessly for the sun to come up, for the vampire night to recede back into my nightmares. The fog of autumn burned off; a stillness and quiet flows through my empty house. I breath it in slowly, waves of peaceful solitude pour over me, smoothing out my idiosyncratic creases, taking me to a place most people live; a place I never knew–the world of normalcy and general complacency. Perhaps I could take up residence here, away from the shadow people and dark mental clutter that burdens me, leaving me washed out, shattered by suspicious conversations with everyone. Maybe this is forever. Maybe I am fixed, better than I was before. I can wake up on Sundays, make a big breakfast, do some push-ups, and spend a couple of hours in church with polite conversations and thoughtful meditation before returning to home and honest labor, cutting grass and sawing limbs, waving at neighbors before retiring to recliner to watch the game and dose off intermittently. Oh what a life I could have! How happy I will be from here on out. Everything is going to be okay. No more top secret distress over high cholesterol and the state of reality. Thankfully all the monsters and dragons have receded back into the darkness. From here on out everything is going to be okay.
Jasper Kerkau (1/28/17)
Sudden Denouement Literary Collective
Waking up before the sun peaks into same window. Earl Grey and dogs changing positions, watching the silence of early Fall, trying to remember. The end is the only thing that matters now, the evolving, the crushing weight of change, being contorted and twisted like the vintage trees, ring of lives past. Nothing up to this point really matters. The burden made proof of worth; the end result greater than the tragedy—a strange world.
A life tattered and transformed by destiny—or a seemingly random sample of events that left me buried in bathtub, risen with shield of words, powerful symbols of magic and life. I will not be vanquished; there are cherubs playing my melody, singing a beautiful song, baffling gods and dark nymphs. I find my new place disconnected from the hive, separated from form, existing in truth etched in marble stele, consisting of heart and blood. I dine on truth. Existing. Baptized by the whimsy of dreamers. Emancipated!
I stroll through days, decoding smiles, passive-aggressive shrugs and look for the miracles in everything, meaning pulled out of nothingness. It makes sense now, it really does! No one is going to save me, no salvation in feminine wiles; salvation is beaten out of earth, shaken out of the sky, found in the ephemeral beautify of perseverance and experience. I woke up in a strange life. I make it my home, hang pictures in awkward corners. I own this place. This is my world.
Jasper Kerkau (10/8/16)
With her side-ways glance,
She sees the patina of my fear.
Smirking, placid expression.
I hear her inaudible laugh,
her nuanced condescension.
A lacerating look,
My heart leaps.
Her oblique manner digs into me.
A dizzy roar of dysfunctional,
ephemeral bliss washes over me.
Soon the hangover.
Why do I do this to myself?
Jasper Kerkau (9/9/16)