By Jeremiah Walton
Being human is alright. Never been anything else
There’s a phantom limb in this poem. I hope that says something
Psychologists have been executed by refusal
and fear.
I’m feeling a pain
that I ignore(d)
released from the mouths
attatched to my ribcage.
There is more
than the oyster shell city
I’m looking for pearls in.
Life is full of
shit booze and dirt
beautiful woman and
cars, skateboards
and knives. Dead friends
and dying friends. Heart squeels
and drunk passion, the only
passion I can evoke.
like being on an open mic and not knowing what to do with your hands
like groundings to small children
Being human is alright,
though I think I may
be a little odd. Find justification
for weird kids weirding weird kids out
and move on.
The phantom limb
is in this poem
somewhere. Keep
looking.
Clutching at Straws 