I burn my guts
with gasoline
and render them
to mush
every evening
with bright
blue lights
in my eyes
Author: Jay W. Ess
April 10, 2020 Or, A Poem About Certain People I Could Name (Not the They Might Be Giants Song)
poetryA fit of foolishness
has found them
at the bottom of
a deep dark well
and I can only hope
this fit of arrogance
will get them out again
April 9, 2020 Or, A Poem About Family
poetryI remember ever scratch
on my parents’ dining table
I can see if I close my eyes
the chipped veneer
on my father’s end
the puncture from a project
by my middle brother
in the summer of ’03
I can feel my quiet frustration
at the grain not aligning
in the center
when the leaf is out
and sheer annoyance
that the lines don’t match
even when it is laid in
perfectly center
Ever stacked with clean towels
government paperwork
off-brand Tupperware full
of different kinds of cookies
a bag of fresh fruit even
within a few days of the market
and wonder at the dinner
that it could have held
but for a global pandemic
and a quarantine order
from the Governor
that won’t let up ’til May
April 8, 2020 Or, A Poem About Climate
poetryI have heard
that the changes made
to our ecosystem are
irreversible
or they will be
in a decade or two
But the seas will only boil
after all the polar ice
has melted away
April 7, 2020 Or, A Poem About Failure
poetry‘pity me’
he whispered in a heap
sobbing on the flagstones
as she looked on
unamused
‘I do’
she responded
and her fingers snapped
and hot fire sprung forth
to engulf him
he shrieked and flailed
with all his might
but in the end
there was only ash left
as she walked back inside
and drew the blinds
behind her
April 6, 2020 Or, A Poem About Religion
poetryI arrived unsaved
on the wide steps
of your temple
where I begged mercy
in the dark of night
and I wailed,
oh I wailed,
to all the saints
or spirits
that would listen
when I woke at dawn
covered in dew
and dust and bruises
I found my prayers
answered:
no saint had left
notice and no spirit
made its mark so
I departed unsaved
into the wilderness
wailing to the sun instead
April 5, 2020 Or, A Poem About Time
poetryStasis doesn’t stop time
the earth revolving the sun
consuming its fuel ever nearing
supernova
every shop is closed
the stark contrast of meaning
is thrown in our faces
but stasis doesn’t stop time
wrestle with your annuities
and despair in the gaze of God
as the milky way spirals ever closer
to oblivion
April 4, 2020 Or, a poem About Rain
poetryWash away the salt and sand
from a long hard winter
that seemed to never end
but it does
and in the cold spray
and harsh wind of early
April I know peace
Soon we will be together
April 3, 2020 Or, A Poem About Sunlight
poetryAnd I looked in to the distance
and I was not afraid
for the sun shone as bright
as it ever had in my youth
and the darkness that came after
was no darker than I’d remembered
April 2, 2020 Or, A Poem About Economies
poetryEverything is 50 percent perfect
in this floating point in time
but for a set of sifting proxies
we’d be more than halfway
Monumental Artifice is a cruel thing
it seems
it feeds its fear
as a child at a river
with a bag of stale bread
and we must choose to consume
and be consumed
or starve
and let die our other half
April 1, 2020 Or, A Poem About Rich Men
poetryThe dust from our grinded bones
would settle in neat piles
under the chutes of great machines
rattling away through the night
to distill us in to the parts
best worth consuming
and my only hope, then, would be
to take the sickness with me
through each infernal mincer
over every hellish gear, so
by the time they found infection
it would bee too late for them
and they would suffocate inside
their own retched throbbing lungs
as the world spun fast enough
to fling them in to space
to die
the rest of the way
(Today is the first day of National Poetry Month)
King of the Mountain
poetryI stood on the top of a snow mound
at eleven, hands without gloves
cold from the climb and face red
in the late afternoon light and I
watched as three boys made their ways
to the top where we would grip one
another and try with might and leverage
to cast each other down the mound
to hold the peak for a few seconds more
until another challenger summitted and
made their case to reign supreme but
not one of us had gloves and most of us
had rides home coming but I had walked
to school that morning so I would last
until the final bus had pulled away and
I would rule a minute more until my
beet-red hands started hurting
I Thought So (I really did)
poetryI can’t have you
whistling through the vines
out there,
teasing cool
in the summer heat
and bringing,
for just a moment,
the fragrances
of another man’s
supper
My head lays
on the kitchen table
like a chopping block,
pressed against the scratches
in its perfect,
marred surface,
lolling on
the center leaf
it is seven PM
exactly
when I will lift
my head again
to gaze in to you,
cool night air,
like a memory
to think your name
and dream of you
in winter
6:01
poetryI watched that video
again
for the hundredth time
but maybe only the twenty-fifth
without you
and I don’t even know
what day it was
it was every day
at 6:01
until we memorized
each word and we
laughed whether
we fucked it up
or not
but look, man
we’re in the
prime of our lives
got to live the way we got to
gonna make us some money again
gonna fight
but not all fighters
are champions
and I don’t even know
what day it was
but I hope
it didn’t
hurt
) Not (Fade Away)
poetryI fell for you
and I think you fell
for me,
too,
maybe eleven
years
ago
we did our best
to fuck that up
and it worked
so well
that I
stopped
calling
***
You can’t answer now
even if you
ever
wanted to
but I’m sorry
I never remember
anymore
to miss you
somehow,
though,
I don’t think
you would
mind
Because it’s the same every time
poetryYou are a white-hot point in space
searing through my retinas as I
stare and I
am clinging to this moment
trying
so
desperately
to
hang
on
but I know how this ends
even as you burn as hot as ever
I know how this ends
because it’s the same
every time
and it will be no surprise
as my fingers tire
my grip slips
and I am flung through nothing
and I am incinerated in your
holy light but I
am clinging to this moment
trying
so
desperately
to
hang
on
but my clothes
are already
burning
2019
poetrymy pulse beats
within my skull
day by day by
hour by minute
potential
more impossible
by the second
systems slowing
logarithmically
cells regenerating
less
and
less
while the sea ice
e v a p o r a t e s
to the North
of us
I Am Dying
just as the Earth
is Dying
And faster
from arrogance
And faster
from greed
Time does not heal
all wounds.
Time
is a wound
there is no stopping
the bleeding from
Untitled Unfinished 1/9/17
poetryAND I STILL SEE YOU SOMETIMES
DANCING EVEN THOUGH YOU DON’T MEAN TO
LAUGHING WITH YOUR MOUTH CLOSED
YOU REFUSE TO SMILE
Untitled Unfinished 12/28/16
poetryPlease don’t make excuses for me;
If I am to die in this sphere
let me die by rights,
I beg of you
Heaven
poetryYou told me there are rules
about how babies are born,
about how clothes are worn,
about gluttony and adultery
You spent every Sunday chatting
with your Brothers and Sisters
about how the rules apply
to everyone
There are no exceptions
Then your Husband wrote a letter
about getting out early.
He quoted Seneca, who said
that the wise man will live
as long as he ought
There are no exceptions
So do not talk about heaven
There are rules, after all,
and certain rules apply
when the wise man
cashes
out
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