by John Randolph Carter
I am standing with my feet
in a box of wet cement,
waiting for it to dry
and gazing at the end of the pier
at the oily film on the surface
of the water.
I am chained, bound, gagged, lassoed.
Have I only to lean forward
to make my dive or will I need a push?
I imagine life at the bottom.
Perhaps I could learn to enjoy it.
I would be well grounded,
free to look about and take in
the passing scene:
rare tropical fish, a deep sea
diver with a metal helmet
firmly bolted to his rubber suit,
even the odd submarine.
I can hold my breath
indefinitely or grow gills.
I'm glad I've left the world on land
with it's freeways and subways and
condos and corporate conglomerates.
Here it's dark and quiet and
things come to me in their own time.
I'm no longer a go-getter,
a hide and seeker.
I'm planted like seaweed,
undulating with the current.
I Tried to Watch TV Tonight
And the commercials, so crisp and
lush, and vivid on my new TV,
made me want to run and hide.
One with grated cheese and gleaming
chopped tomatoes and another one in
black and white with light and shadow
playing on the side of a skyscraper.
I finally turned it off and picked up
a book of poetry, but the first poem
was so painful and part way through
I was filled with conflict. This is well
written but it's not a road I want to
travel on. I barely finished.
And then another poem by a different author
filled with unexpected metaphors.
Apparently this is his great achievement,
but seeming like such a great achievement
it was impossible to relax.
Finally, I picked up a pad of paper
and wrote the following.
My mind is filled with dark thoughts
and so I imagine opening French doors
and inviting them to leave.
But then, meeting some resistance,
it occurs to me that a trap door in
the roof is a more appropriate exit
and when I open it they rise in the
air like a flock of black crows.
read John Carter's poetry featured in Cyber Corpse #10
see John Carter's artwork featured in Cyber Corpse #10
see John Carter's artwork featured in Cyber Corpse #11
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