Page 34 - The Noise August 2017
P. 34

poems & illustrations by Kris Pothier
Suffer yer succotash
no more
screams have the same tone,
regardless the proximity.
Promiscuity in youth
turns into succulent desire
as an adult
human bodies only get in the way.
We try to tap into the soul of it all.
Release the shoddy worded
never ending
run on sentences
brain matter waste
and jump the curb of the cul-de-sac we been circling suburban design need not
ride on our spine.
Claim mine to all of it —
your own worn out wits
and sugar filled spit is merely the refrain
of a song you been singing all this time.
We are here to burn long and hot
push it up against it all,
all the body can take.
Then sleep it off, let that
good ole subconscious
work out the puzzle
your shifty ass muzzle
won’t let you remove in waking
as you try to disprove
the notion you are free.
But you is. Always. Free.
My Man
I woke up beside you
a sleepy Arizona town
smelling cilantro on your skin
I touched your strong back
it was late or early however you cut it across the quiet streets
I could faintly hear
a Mexican polka and people gathered. I had a dream of you
stared left of nowhere trying to grab it the sound of the fiesta dissipated
as I slid my mind around it
I ran my finger across my lip
Heat flooded like a logging truck barreling down a mountain road flushed my cheeks radish.
Of violent dreams of memory screams
of distant smooth awakening of broken falling beams
once that stood
the might of a tiger
come battle come conquest come mother destroyer
of thoughts for fear
come quick possibility
ever changing mind
spirit dwindle
quickness of time
slips through fingers
faster than sand
forget to remember
the land on which we stand. Lighthouse beams childhood screams
broken down jalopy not enough process mind becomes sloppy fourteen words
from the battle hymn of the republic closest we come
to strength of a nation
yet give us something to eat
and our worry subsides or even a slide
on a death hurry ride
as children are buckled
in a seat meant to protect crossing roads where fatal people wreck
from sequential conversations on phones strapped to ears forgetting to remember
the greatest of fears
taking away the years
from the voters clenched hands gathering together
in the gaudy football stands collective cry of
hotdog breath
as the lost deer
lays sideways after
the speed induced wreck.
34 • AUGUST 2017 | the NOISE arts & news | www

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