11 - Poem by Zac Wittstruck

Man o man in a garbage
can man
That book he read
is closing slowly
It leans
Why should it do that?
Is it at an odd angle?
What should I have read?
That big dark guy is
really tan and look
I think he's following me
But I think his friends
washed his hands
for him
He thanks them graciously
and kisses their foreheads


Sitting at the bar in
a hotel room
I saw a friend get
chainsawed in the head
I kinda thought that he
was still alive
I didn't ask him
And now I'll never know
But there are bigger
fish in the sea
And more rabbits to hunt
But be warned
If it comes down to it
I'm punching you right
in the Johnson
And now I must say my
prayers


Big toe, little toe
Toe in a restaurant
Eating Chinese cuisine
His pants are on fire
He drives a limousine
I surely hope his hands
are clean
Do you not know what
I mean?
He waits outside for
someone or something
to fork his spoon
out of the gutter
While he tastes his
brand new bottle of
vaseline


So, we meet again
Against our wills
Against the walls
We eat pungent artichokes
and greasy lima beans
And meditate
on broken glass
with spilled blood
What shall we do next?
said the mute woman
to the deaf man
The blind man saw it
happen and testified
as an eye witness
on the third Friday of
the month


Cars drive on asphalt
in the winding state
of manic depression
Two blind dogs are
laughing on streets of
solid gold
At the cat who lacks
the gift of smell
Eat something good for
a change, like good ol'
taco bell
The soda machine ate
my quarter and nickel,
and choked on a penny
Luckily, Soda Man was
there to the rescue


The end of the show
And all there was
to see was the stage
on fire
What do you mean?
The band went where?
And that's all she
wrote
She left dry ice
in her potato sack
overnight
And guess what
happened?
They all lived happily
ever after once upon a
time


Does it have to be
realistic or can it
be short?
Short like a shoe?
The pig doesn't snort
He lies awake at
night dreaming of a
better age of man
Or monkeys for that
matter
But what does it matter
All time is matter
And the man just
keeps getting madder
Which makes matters
sadder


Cars are heard
speaking the language
of Doppler
I sit in pools of carnal
rage
But they are more like
puddles of emotional
censorship
Women pass close by
Thinking loudly amongst
themselves
Mindless to what is
beyond the fence
The wall guards
me well from
the police


What should ever be
seen should some
random famous person
peek into their
jewelry box or some
other sort of box?
And though we
shouldn't ever know
Will it, whatever it is
Eat away at our
collective sanity?
A leaf drops heavily
and threatens, or
at least plays with
the idea of threatening
Safety


I once saw blank
blankets while on
mushrooms
What I mean is -
The blankets were
blank
They had no designs
on them
They had no aura
My favorite time was
when
I walked through
a desolate jungle
of small buildings
and found my way home


The place was a mess
There was no keeping
secrets here
My wife saw me and
called me over
She thought a plant in
the corner would suffice
So I went to the hardware
store
I walked through
several aisles before
realizing
The outside was in
And on my way out
I saw Jim
He was doing just fine

Poems by Zac Wittstruck

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