New World (Part 3) – A Poetry Journal

2-7-22 – 9:30 a.m.

I get embarrassed about the ways I blamed my parents. I’m older now; I know that life is chaotic most of the time. I’m still afraid to be happy after all these years. She asks me if I’m happy a lot. I am, but I wonder about all the ways in which the ground under me will cave in. I’ve never loved anyone like her. I’m not the greatest boyfriend ever, but I like to think I’m capable of love.

Went to the dog park. A woman spoke to us like she was starved for love. Said many in the city lack a community mindset. Our dogs ran around playing with each other. I thought of all of us who don’t have kids but pets instead. It brought on an incredible feeling of guilt, likely imposed by the church. My cousin said if he had a child, it would be the antichrist. I think he’s exaggerating.

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Red Lights Glow (a poem)

Transit of my soul
From numbing place to place
Dark nights, howling winds
Rattling of a rib-cage window
Naked moon glares above
Skeletal grind and pain
A refrain from dream-cities
Nestled inside the house
Winter chill, freeze-agony
Red lights glow from
Street-corner temples
Listen to the wind
It never lies

(Photo by Brianna Santellan on Unsplash)

Nightmare Within the Nightmare (microfiction)

Along the river, the dream skyline beckons to me. Awash in frosted colors of winter, a mixture of cool blues, greens, and yellows, each light is a thousand people burning and dying away. Those high skyscrapers and towers shooting from cold, neon concrete, and those burning people screaming in agony in unison, is the perfect nightmare chorus for this evening.

The river water reflects the shades of my character flaws. A little bit of gluttony, lust, pride, and other deadly sins, a watery grave to put them in. I’m approaching the harbor with my doppelgänger, a slightly deformed version of myself; the eyes are too sunken, the teeth too sharp, and the appetite too large.

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