Face Vase Sophie Barrett

86

Walter’s Cabinet
He pensively leans there
The man in the hat.
His eyes stare both ways aloft,
Looking for his shoulder
Over his shoulder
Which wasn’t even there.
He stares directly at nothing,
A lack, a frittata
Of empty thoughts cast onto him
By his overcast worries
He worries he can not continue
To lean…
His arm creased, knuckles
Resting on his chin.
His arm giving no support
But rather, a mere cling
To the post
To the past
Like a shitting dog gripping before
The sinkhole’s gape.
Garret 2020
He longs for the wife
He wishes to be.
A face of a wretched god,
And elder,
Who’s name
Besets her very nature.
Who can not
Cease to be
To witness…
To witness the shab boy
Greased in butters of poverty
Stare at a young electric blonde
Thin and pale
Wearing a rather revealing top
Especially every inch of her
M1911 pistol
Which she laid into the boy with
Over 15 square feet of
Refined steel
Destroying what little still boiled.

He’s sad for the balloon boy He saw it coming

For his calendar, out of tune
From his lust for frivver,
And frizzer
And golden limousines.
He is empty
Empty to his tears
Staining the ink he once thought
Or the poetry
He wished he once had.
He saw it coming from a mile away
His acceptance of his place
Still makes him pigeon toed
To this day...
Eli Sanchez
87