Summer in the City

Dorian talked to me like I was an equal, even though he was an adult in his late 20s and I was a child of 13.  Debi, our sister, was closer to Dorian’s age and like a mother to me.

Sometimes Dorian did unsafe things or said things an adult wouldn’t say, which made me concerned but not enough to tell our parents, except once when he found a gun and shot it in our room.  
We used to take long ambling walks with our Doberman late at night in our Queens neighborhood.  Across from our house was my cousin’s house.  Her parents divorced and she no longer lived there, but I knew the house well.  Next door on one side was Adrian, who was from Haiti and whose dad had a yellow taxi in their driveway.  On the other side was Anabelle, an only child who was a little odd, maybe because of that.  We walked past Jay’s house, a large white brick structure. He was three years older than I and an Orthodox Jew. I liked talking to him, but I hated when Debi said he had a crush on me. “I gave him $5, so you have to marry him!”  We passed a small stucco house where another only son lived with his parents.  He was Debi’s age, and he killed himself one day. He was a dentist.  We turned the corner and passed the Greenbergs’ house, another family from Lebanon who were close to my parents.  

Their son was bar mitzvahed in the backyard when I was six. We walked on 112th Street, right by a home for foster children. This is where we sometimes encountered a pack of dogs.  I was scared for my dog because although he was fierce, he was outnumbered. We went all the way to the high school, with its large dark running track surrounded by a fence. On the way home we passed Barry’s house, the local stoner. His was the most beautiful – red brick with stained glass windows and a purple kitchen. Barry jogged obsessively before jogging was even a thing.

Dorian and I talked a lot on these walks, and he called me Arn, even though that wasn’t my name. 

“Arn, let’s go swimming,” he said one night.  He said he knew of a great pool:  John Jay Pool on the Upper East Side.  We rushed home to pick up our bathing suits, then got into his black Camaro. The windows were open, and the night air was thick with summer as we drove up 68th Drive, passing the Annex, where the local boys played stickball, and then 108th Street and Yellowstone Blvd, until we came to Queens Blvd, which we took to the 59th Street Bridge.  Dorian had his left foot resting on the dashboard as we drove, his long brown hair fluttering in the wind and his large nose sitting perfectly on his face as he smiled. “This is going to be so fun,” he shouted above the motor, which rumbled below my feet.  

Once at the pool, I stared at the tall black gate.  It had spokes on the top.  I clasped an iron post in each hand and peered into the long still pool.  Dorian pressed his Chinese slippers firmly onto the bars and shimmied up like it was nothing. He perched on the top and waited for me to join him.  He had so much confidence in my abilities to climb that when he held out his hand to me, I somehow reached him, surprising myself.  Once at the top, I put my arms around his neck as he lifted me over the spokes. 

I took off my Levi’s as Dorian dove in, his body sliding into the pool without a sound, and started his methodical laps.  When Dorian swam, It looked like he was part of the water, gliding through, barely breaking the surface or making a ripple.  He was muscular and lean, his hair streaming dark in the night.  

I slipped into the inky pool and floated on my back, my ears submerged, staring at the sky.  It felt like I was the only person in the world.  Water usually scared me, and the empty pool was eerie, but if I looked towards my brother, I could get my breathing back to normal.  The multitude of cars on the FDR Drive below us seemed far away.  
I’m not sure why I agreed to go wherever Dorian suggested.  Maybe I said something like “Are you sure this is a good idea?” or “Are we going to get in trouble?”, but in the end, I always followed him.  Almost every outing turned into an adventure.  My parents didn’t seem to worry, and anyway, they had lives of their own.  They often went out with friends and came home late, assuming I was tucked in bed or with one of my siblings. 

On the way home in wet jeans, we took a detour to Mamoun’s, on MacDougal Street in the West Village. It was a small, narrow place with dark walls. It had Lebanese takeout food and was open all night.   It smelled of mint and cardamom and meat. We got shawarmas, meat shaved off a gyro stand and stuffed into a pita with tahine, lettuce, and liffit. We ate them on a stoop across the street, where we sat bent over and let the tahine drip to the ground between our feet.  No matter how many napkins we had, it was never enough. The tea was hot and sweet in Styrofoam cups, just the way we liked it.  Sated and tired, we people-watched in silence, blowing on our tea. “All right, Arn, let’s head home,” he said. 

He drove us back to Queens, the motor’s hum pulling me to close my eyes, my beautiful brother by my side.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
in the winter blues
 
stuck in another
waiting room
 
heat raging in
the winter blues
 
coat rack full
 
my imagination
hoping something
young walks in
soon
 
i don't think it
wants to dream
about the wrinkling
skin under three
layers of clothes
fresh out of some
vacuum space
saving bag
 
although,
it certainly has
dreamed of worse
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
plenty of happiness
 
honesty hurts
 
laughter doesn't
cure shit
 
money can buy
you plenty of
happiness
 
true love does
have a fucking
price
 
cheaters always
get ahead faster
 
and death is
a relief
 
it's up to the
user if it is
sweet or not
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i never asked to be born
 
on the cranky
days
 
i remind myself
i never asked to
be born
 
then i'll think
of my father
and the worms
six feet under
the ground
 
the anniversary
of the day we
put that fucker
down there is
coming up
 
suddenly
 
a smile
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
past any sense of reason

there's a darkness 
deep inside of me
that every blue 
moon or so wants 
to come out and 
play

stir some shit up

push the envelope 
well past any sense 
of reason

this is where i always 
tend to hold back the 
desires and do my best 
to just play it cool

but one of these days

they might as well get
the riot gear ready

madness has no timetable
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
high heels
 
the sound of high heels
on tile floors
 
scratches that itch i will
always have in the back
of my brain
 
of a long-legged queen
digging those heels in
my chest
 
with a skirt on short
enough that i can enjoy
the view as i embrace
the pain

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know better. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Yellow Mama, The Beatnik Cowboy, Terror House Magazine, Horror Sleaze Trash and Cajun Mutt Press. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

When I must leave you for a little while, 
Please do not grieve and shed wide tears
Hug your sorrow, for I have gone to fetch for you.
Live and do all things the same
A day will come when you will feed your loneliness with gladness.
Remember, before bringing me forth 
In your arms you taught me to never lose sight even when time seems helpless
You guard me jealously like a Guinea fowl that guards her eggs.
When hospitals were far, you painfully brought out with gladness
A day shall come,
When your product will be in demand,
When others will look forward to seeing and shake hand with your production

You give me a life and a world
A day shall come when you will gladly see joy at you feet
And by your side, there's nothing we cannot beat
Sad are the hearts that love you
Silent the tears that fall
Living my heart without you is the hardest part of it all
It is with heavy heart and tears in my eyes
To think of the fact the way I came
A day shall come when your hand will reach out in comfort and in cheer
And I shall gladly sit by you and hold you near.

Welcome, readers, to 2023’s first issue of Synchronized Chaos Magazine.

This month we start off with some sad news: our longtime contributor Joan Beebe has passed away. Here is her obituary, we encourage people to leave tributes, make donations or plant trees in her memory through this link.

Also, our friend and collaborator Rui Carvalho reminds us about our Nature Writing Contest for 2022.

This is an invitation to submit poems and short stories related to trees, water, and nature conservation between now and the March 2023 deadline. More information and submission instructions here!

This month’s work probes the translucence of time: what we can see of past memories and future hopes and fears, and how that shapes our individual and collective identities.

Lorena Caputo describes the Honduran town of Trujillo years after banana plantations and Contras have left their mark.

Christopher Bernard laments our world’s harsh winter landscape of blizzards, ecological destruction, and war.

Sayani Mukherjee rejoices in the regular rejuvenation of landscapes with green vegetation, which resonates with me in California as it finally rains here in winter.

Wayne Mason sings of a subterranean post-industrial purgatory.

Daniel De Culla’s piece suggests that time can cleanse, or at least cover over, dark memories and lost souls.

Dudu Tome speaks in various ways of binding ourselves to each other and to our homelands.

RP Verlaine musters equanimity when faced with reminders of a troubled past, and of how life has not always been kind to those he knows. J.T. Whitehead compares the financial and emotional toll of divorce to the sufferings of the Biblical character of Job.

Z.I. Mahmud waxes poetic about Sir Walter Scott and William Blake and old-style chivalry.

Christopher Bernard questions the validity of the traditional social construction of gender, while Jaylan Salah explores differing concepts of masculinity embodied in films about men with physical deformities.

Fernando Sorrentino juxtaposes the two long and storied traditions of pop culture and academia with uneasy humor, while S.J. Fowler places a pleasantly amusing female gorilla amidst art museums, coffee, and the daily newspaper.

Susie Gharib breathes out wishes for the liberation of all living beings from various forms of despair or entrapment.

Hongri Yuan and Yuanbing Zhang speak of illusion, reality, and transcendence, drawing on motifs from Chinese poetry and history. Nilufar Rukhillayeva urges all people to hold onto our dreams for our lives and our world.

J.J. Campbell writes of the dull ache of disillusionment, living in an uncomfortable reality while still remembering better days. Mahbub Alam explores the uncomfortable gap between his aspirations and his reality.

Peter Cherches spurs us on to declare our existences in a complex, absurdist world. Ike Boat celebrates a school graduation in Ghana with pride.

Nahid Gul celebrates the capabilities and the journey towards psychological healing and social acceptance for a girl who uses a wheelchair for locomotion.

Bruce Roberts grapples with the dangerous natural and human elements of our world in a collection of persona poems that symbolically brings them down to our level.

Mark Young echoes Ezra Pound while conjuring up a semblance of reality.

Channie Greenberg’s photos explore various ways of looking at the felines who share our planet.

J.D. Nelson renders everyday human and animal life in a set of haikus, showing how it can be intriguing and special.

Mubarak Said reflects on a mythical dream journey to the land of the dead.

Tajudeen Muadh Akanbi laments the violence and chaos of his homeland and hopes for a better future through nurturance and healing of broken dreams. Patricia Doyne satirizes Donald Trump and related political movements within the United States.

Olawe Opeyemi reflects on his hopes and dreams for his life.

Chimezie Ihekuna urges us in song to get going and take the steps we need to transform our lives.

We hope that this issue will serve as a similar source of inspiration.

I Dream

I dream that I breathe peace 
into everyone to whom I speak,
that my smile unties the knots 
that their frowns have knitted on their faces,
that my eyes emanate warmth,
an antidote to whatever the deadly frost has glaciated,
that my unfettered feet can walk upon water 
like Jesus’,
that my mind accommodates every fragrance 
that flowers and roses exuded,
that my hands can free all the creatures 
imprisoned within cages,
that my ears are attuned to the sighs of leaves 
fluttering to breezes,
to the orbit of stars,
to the mystic rituals of true believers,
to the silent prayers of children, 
to the whispers of souls in a congregation.
 

The Land of Broken Glass

I see everywhere massive amounts of broken glass.
Some are of smashed bottles,
some a symptom of domestic wrath.
I marvel at these splinters that decorate our grass,
our pavements,	
and car wheels like diamond studs.

A rough boy sits on the edge of a cart of trash,
scavenging for little treasures such as morsels of food 
and plastic bags to trade for coins.
I see him contemplate an empty bottle of orange juice,
which he abruptly brings down with a bang,
like a judge pronouncing the irrevocable verdict, 
his eyes dilating with delight
at the dexterity of his hand,.
the startling soundtrack,
and the harmful littering of a pedestrian path.

 
In Enslaved by Civilization

No wonder D.H. Lawrence assimilated the school
to a very elaborate railway system
where tractable, well-behaved boys
are persistently instructed
to adhere to good tracks
until they reach their teens
when into life they are shoved.

The habit of adhering to lines
has already become an ingrained trait
and now the boy is an adult,
he runs on a new set of ways,
a life-long slave
to rails.
 

Free

It is the usual tune I constantly play
as I drive up our very steep mountains,
my father reclining in the front seat,
my German Shepherd, extremely excited.

The labrosones that herald this piece
bring to my father’s eyes joyful tears,
to my dog, an aesthetic hypnosis.

Free is the title that was given
to this unparalleled jazz fusion.
The birds that orchestrate in pine trees
hearken to the interplay of metal and strings
as George Michael and Chris Cameron create
a rapport of concordant resonance.

Transparent Men and Women

       Yuan-Hongri

Tr.  By Wit lee

 

Transparent men and women

Men and women more beautiful than colored butterflies

Maybe really a group colored butterflies

Dancing from Zhuangzi ‘s big dream

 

But I see cities, crystal transparent cities

Like city’s dream, city’s love

 

Through the walls could reach the other shore

Light, may transcend time

Above the sea surface of time, boats of light are flying

On a little island

I see other men and women

 

This calendar tells us a window

After days are still another days

It is the illusion of days that besiege us

Just as my flesh is my own shadow

 

Yesterday’s leafs and water drops

Pebbles I played with in my childhood

The sun I see for the first time

Those all things are smiling in a house of light

 

Eyes of men and women

Eyes more charming than the rainbow

On vibrant morning

In intoxicating dusk

Flying water drowned men and women

 

I found one sun in my own chest

I discovered cities in my head

The water of the past turned into crystal, diamond

There are stars sailing in my bones

 

Ah, a young girl in dream

Maybe came from some day a hundred years ago

Still I miss that moment

That vision disappeared when I wake up

 

That momentary smile, how warm it was

Who made you appear in my dream?

 

I believe in dream, as I believe in the sun

And in dreamland I saw another me

 

Shadows of Phoenix and Unicorn

Once in dream came down

On the mountain top

I dreamed a house of heaven

 

Blood is another river

Blood in my body also has its own dream

I set foot on a ladder of days

But on the other mountain

Leisurely I’m flying

 

Shadows of men and women

Blooms in a smile

The seasons of men and women

Days are like pieces of stones

 

I opened an photo album sealed for many years

I saw Yellow Emperor rambling in the city

One shadow is among many shadows

On another wild field

Ancient years are shouting and fighting

 

On grassland all kinds of flowers are laughing

Living in glass I

Don’t know their names

 

Water of yearning, water of sweet and fragrant spring

Fly from inside rocks

A girl is like a colorful flying phoenix

 

Only dream tells us the illusory of time

Outside time's gate

There is another sun

 

Who was playing games inside ancient rocks

Igniting gold piece by piece

On pieces of transparent boulders

Drawing seas and cities

 

I was sitting in a house filed with light

With a picture album hold in my hand

In the buildings of ancient times

Caught sight of the future emperors

 

Who’s blood was the plum flower drinking

Which girl’s song was it singing

When I got up

I saw a white jade, glittering its smile

 

In the age when rock drifted fragrance

Queen Mother of the West was a witch

Tow eyes have intoxicated the handsome and strong MU Tianzi

 

This is a gold sculpture

But I don’t know

Am I in times of heaven or mundane?

 

On days when Goddess stepped on auspicious clouds

Where am I?

On which star

Still preserves my house of past?

 

Form east to west

There is a road of gold

Perhaps there is a blonde

To be my companion of tomorrow

 

The earth is a crystal jade

In lover’s mouth

Atmosphere is as sweet as wines

 

And in one dreamland

I'm still a baby

 

Every city and county I passed by

Have all left my shadow

Thousand years after they will still be golden and shining

 

Bread that I eat was my own blood

A girl that I loved once loved me a thousand years ago

 

I saw in the arms of the rocks

Girls were lying down, cheeks fresh and red

Skins were as transparent as jade

 

Hieroglyphs and letters

Were glittering and shining on the sun

 

God is holding a brush in his hand

Waving a pen in heaven

Those cities of gold and silver

In an eye's twinkling flew toward the human world

 

On the edge of a big river bank

There was one house of mine

A garden yielded full of golden fruits

 

On the other mountain, red plum blossomed spreading the top

My shadow turned into a Kylin

 

In the house built with white jade

I wrote down a volume of poetry

Each line of verse is a star in the blue sky

 

A tortuous, quite and secluded path

Walked through from a garden

The sun shed its golden drizzle

 

Golden spiral ladders

Was in another crystal sky

I opened my own head

There are more suns

Spinning ,singing

 

Girl of light, petal of smile

On a lake green-jade-like

Reflecting the red houses

A cluster of green leaves transmit bright red lips

 

Smiling faces of the alley paved by stones

To where shall it lead me?

Blooming peach tree of early spring

Upon the hillside ,bees of sunlight are buzzing

 

Through the street of trams and crowd

In front of the glorious and magnificent mansions

Look up forward a piece of crystal blue sky

In the thoughts of white clouds

Is the city beautiful?

Along the street of billboards and neon lights

Big trees covered with green hair

Enable me miss the distant mountains and the clear springs

 

Children’s smiling faces are no unfamiliar

Black jade eyes, pink lips

At this moment, men and women flow stream endlessly

It was fashion and vanity that noised the street

 

I planted myself here

Left a thousand shadows

To cultivate a thousand gardens

To pave the gold onto road like the stones

Let every stone melt into crystal

 

In wind language there were sounds of stars

Rocks and pine trees of distant mountains

Poetry rhythm of the sea

There were underground buried dreaming words of ancient people, blooming red flower  

And there were remote poems I eager to go back

 

Every single green tree beside the street loves us

Under the hot sun, wordless green shade

Every flower has its own language

People with crystal eyes

Will see flower's smile

 

Ah, every time the sun rises

We all woke up from death

The dead us,where have been kept?  

Do not belittle a stone

It hummed the song of universe

 

The young girl's smiling face of the very days  

Turned into a white cloud

Upon the mirror face of the sky

All the saints could be seen

 

I was silent in the fire, went through  

The flame of men and women

In the high streets and back lanes of cities

Wind of time blown colorful flags

Under the blue sky, river of life is flouring and rushing

 

I tried to open the memory door

On another planet

Leisure and happy time

The night of death subsided

And on the red clouds of dawn

Golden smile face of the sun

 

The initial men and women

Men and women without names

Men and women created God

 

The initial poets were a couple of lovers

When the blood started to sing

I heard the language of the sun and stars

 

On some wonderful and joyous occasions the sun smiled outside the window

A young girl walked into your window

Her eyes are two stars

Came from ancient space

 

How transient this prosperity in front of us

This street, city of labyrinth

The old man sitting on the street playing with chess   

Still missing the house of gone away

 

The young girl of that very year was still walking past the street

Only turned into a transparent shadow

Tomorrow is in white clouds' hometown

Tomorrow’s sun is still smiling and silent

 

Every moment of mine is departing me

Big birds of time were darting in the sky

Brightly coloured feathers

Glitter in the sky, knowing nowhere to leisurely fly down

 

In a palace

I’m an old man, sitting on golden chair

Missing me

 

I walked into a stone

Saw another sky

On a vast sea

There was an island of peach flower

 

Days of riding a Phoenix

Where are my companions

Walking on the street of Wangfujing

I miss the Yellow emperor riding a dragon up to the heaven

 

Light is my only food

Light of the sun, moon, and stars

Became my bones

 

Ancient Greek and Rome

Is now in front of me

Poems of Homer and Sappho

Turned into my sweet spring

 

Many countries I travelled

Flying in the space-time of words

A thousand years and ten thousand years

Made me lament: transience

 

And now every drop of blood today

Is all a ruby

Every inch of the land I've stepped on

Is all ancient gold

 

Whose jade body am I walking on?

Ancient sweet and beautiful songs

Enables me fall in love with the ancient girl

 

In a transparent jade

Will your laughter be preserved?

Sometimes on one star

I saw your beautiful face

 

Ah, golden words

Stars of east and west

How many poets’ kingdom they have entered?

 

Strings of shining glorious names

Engraved on the chest of the sun

Upon the ocean of the sky

How many happy gardens are there?

 

I'm just fluttering away

Making a temporary farewell from the mundane world for a millennium

When Sappho returns again

A new song must be chanted

 

Days of labyrinth in front of us

Time played the strings of the sun and the moon

Words flied from the stars

 

I walked into the days of phantom overlapped

I can’t tell the past from the future

Now I’m alone and unconventional

And under the sun I lost the shadow

 

Is this body accompanied me

The narrow boat of time?

Above the waves of the Three Gorges

I galloped forward

 

Understand the songs of green shade

Drink a wine of silent time

A golden daisy

During my mid nap

Turned into a girl

 

Poplars and willows on lake shore stand by each sides

Are they still waiting

The lovers strolling in the evening?

 

The sunset is waving a handkerchief of twilight

The light of love

Is soaring in the clean breeze

 

Pairs of star eyes

Where are they twinkling today?

On whose forehead they are inlaid

Singing and chanting to me now?

 

I stepped across the gates of light

Having no idea where to wake up from drunken sleep

In the labyrinth weaved by the light

Drink up the sweet wine of words to my heart’ content

 

Those golden smiling faces

Come from east and west

In the kingdom of poetry

Bosom friends and partners everywhere abound  

 

I lingered about in day times

Opened doors and windows in the wall of light

Had a sweet deep sleep in the white jade case

Dreaming of my own footprints

Radiating golden light in the sky

 

Loneliness became God

Will loneliness hear the words of sky?

Swim across the long river of shadow

I’m a shadow forgetting himself

 

In a house by the street

What kind of time there have been ?

Every day on the earth

Flame of time, burns endlessly

 

Let red lips of lovers fade

Black hair run into dust

Smell the fragrance of the mud

Whose love do you think and recollect?

 

Everything is colorful and transparent

Every stone keeps its own memory

A pile of shattered stone statues

Smile at me in the sun

Maybe we'd known each other a thousand years ago

 

Blood of stone is golden and transparent

Time flower is gold and precious stones

Where are the charming figures today?

Left rolls and volumes poetry of light behind

Those shadows are still brilliant

Vivid and bright-colored as ever in transparent words

 

A withered flower has a beautiful memory

An instant bloom embraces eternity

Memory walks to memory, where shall we go?

The first drop of water turned into an ocean

All things I witnessed come from the past

Tomorrow will born in my palm

By whom the chess pieces of the stars are driven?

In whose eyes the earth is also a chess piece

 

I watched my own life on the earth

Drinking water, having meals, heart full of yearning

Another me perhaps always keep me accompany

Only he knows my secrets

Words I said may have been said

Roads I traveled may have been traveled

I seem to be repeating one by one the me of the past

 

On my tired days, eager for fall down and die

Like zhuang Zi, became a free butterfly

As soon as I wake up, I see the sun

Auspicious clouds spread their fragrance beside me

 

Rivers flowed out from the embrace of the mountain

Again back to the ancient sea

My memory ocean maybe is just ahead


Where is the time hidden exactly?

Come with no sign and go with no trace

Upon the mirror surface of time

Only see my own shadow

 

My songs can be heard by the stars

Walk on the city street

White clouds walk with me

 

I walked into a church

Caught a sight of Jesus holding a baby in his arms

God stands in heaven,waits and watches us

 

My god is myself

I sat in the heaven, looked at myself

A big seven-colored bird

Spread the wings of sky

Watched me walking on the earth

 

Death' black night curtain

Covered heaven of gold and silver

At this moment where do I live on earth?

Drink up all this glass of wine

Blood of time is brewed into nectar

 

No time for hesitation and hovering

Not to be sad in the face of heaven

What cannot be retained is the shadow one after another

My songs are a paradise that will not wither

 

Who is not hungry and thirsty in city desert?

Colorful sand and gravel accumulated into time

Flame refined out transparent bones

Drink the bright jade body

More brighter and glorious than diamonds

 

In pavilions of sky,read volumes of golden books

In time and space labyrinth,write volumes of poetry

 

In the world of mortals, who is my bosom friend?

Caress a street tree, listen to the whisper of the green leaves

 

Transparent crystal world, countless brilliant smiling faces

Open the wall thus can walk into

A house full of laughter

 

Tomorrow is just a landscape

Long has been hanging in the balcony of sky

The sun walked forth and back in the sky

Made tomorrow’s lunch prepared

 

Let me sit down and caress the time’s silk

Cut it to make you a new dress

Walk into the bosom of the sun

Through the flame

And turn into a beam of pure light

 

Glass of the blue sky, melted in the flame

You will see the young girl singing on the star

Garden of earth blossom once again

The human world is full of transparent butterflies flying all around

 

Labyrinth city, colorful river

Wind blows flags of dream

In whose blood the ancient song is sounded?

The Hurrying footsteps beat the drum for an expedition

 

Those eyes glistering starry bright

Seems contain ancient sweet spring

A seed of gold

Is sprouting on your palm, full of bloom

 


Beijing, August 1998

a sense of calm
 
it's bad art
on muted
walls
 
carpet meant
to lull you
into a sense
of calm
 
as long as
you don't
mind being
fucking crazy
 
the chairs
might as
well be a
bed of nails
 
and not the
kind of nails
you would
like leaving
marks on
your back
----------------------------------------------------------------
much better off
 
i gave up smoking
nearly fifteen years
ago
 
my doctor says i
should be happy
that my lungs are
much better off
 
i laugh and say
the weight gain
and the bitter
asshole deep
within killed
happiness
years ago
 
i'm sure one day
he’s going to tell
me to take some
pill
 
he knows currently
 
i'd sell them
----------------------------------------------------------------------
searching for a vein
 
i'm losing
my interest
in life
 
all the
beautiful
women
have
already
said no
 
hell, even
the ugly ones
aren't interested
anymore
 
pretty soon,
i'll be alone
and searching
for a vein
 
but i know
my luck
 
the first one
won't kill me
 
my soul likes
the taste of
agony
---------------------------------------------------------------------
enjoy it while they can
 
the winter doom and gloom
 
piled a few feet high in
every parking lot
 
we haven't seen it like
this in years
 
the kids seem to love it
 
at least the ones that are
too young to have to shovel
the driveways and sidewalks
 
i give them the look that
means to enjoy it while
they can
 
enough years in this place
and you'll understand why
i have a bad back
-----------------------------------------------------------------
that first kiss
 
snow showers
in the morning
 
turn the ac back
on by the weekend
 
getting lost in the
memories of the
first love
 
that first kiss
 
the first time
fooling around
under the bleachers
 
life was a problem
for everyone else
back then
 
and now you realize
you haven't seen each
other in over a decade
 
time doesn't heal
 
it eliminates
 
breaks every soul
one second at a time

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) was raised by wolves but graduated high school with honors. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Yellow Mama, Terror House Magazine, The Beatnik Cowboy, Horror Sleaze Trash and Cajun Mutt Press. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)