flicking lit matches at the dark skysummer storms like old man poems come so easily these days, each line written is through tears. sleep doesn’t happen too often, i could blame the kids but that isn’t fair, it’s my thoughts, it’s these poems and not poems. drunkenness lost its appeal, the drinks are rarely poured and the bar tab has long been paid. memories fade like book pages, the ink no longer holds. i don’t recognize my hands i don’t recognize my face i don’t recognize these streets memories fade like book pages, the ink no longer holds. hangman’s lamentseventeen mouths to feed, do the mathematics, baby. yeah sure there's three of us and four if you count the cat, but don't forget the others, all of them. don't worry, we'll write it off with the taxes, or apply for a grant, or take out a loan-- interest free of course. seventeen ain’t that much and besides, we got each other... shit, what have we got to lose? january poemdo not mistake sadness in my eyes for kindness, i am weak and i am dying day to day i sweat in discomfort as it all blends together i watch ants do ant things and ignore my torment, i watch them pace countertops while losing sleep i drift between seasons without any say in the matter, my soul is restless every road is a dead end Tohm Bakelas is a social worker in a psychiatric hospital. He was born in New Jersey, resides there, and will die there. His poems have appeared in numerous journals, zines, and online publications. He has published 15 chapbooks and 2 collections. He runs Between Shadows Press.
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