word bullet
drifts
like an afternoon
that's lost its way
to meaning.
it's just a .22
caliber whisper,
but its exit wound
will be a black hole
that swallows cities.
in the hollow
of that same afternoon
I find myself searching
for... – by Joe Strickland | 3 Views added 7 months ago
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ryleigh and stella
I abandon self-worth
in the inclination
of their tiny hands
where my ego
goes to drown.
just as water
forsakes the sounds
of the city's
constant wail,
a lullaby
to the desperate
who cling to the edge
... – by Joe Strickland | 4 Views added 7 months ago
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seeps
into my fingertips
like a slow-moving fog.
it's always there.
lurking just beneath
the surface,
a constant buzz
of trouble,
a reminder
of all the times
I've grasped
and been grasped,
only to be left
with nothing
but the... – by Joe Strickland | 7 Views added 7 months ago
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pendulum
sways back
and forth,
a hypnotic
dance of chaos.
the wrecking ball
waits patiently
in the wings
ready to strike
at the heart
of the matter.
in the end
it's not a line
at all,
but a blurred
mess of blood
and rust,
... – by Joe Strickland | 4 Views added 7 months ago
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day we were supposed to be free
in the swelter of summer's longest
afternoon the news arrived
late as always
two years and six months
behind the rest of the nation
our shackles remained
unforged
the general's proclamation
... – by Joe Strickland | 110 Views added 7 months ago
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things
is not a personality.
it's just a lack
of imagination
a refusal to be
seduced
by the beauty
in the mundane.
i've seen people
like that
all bitter and beige,
their lives
a series of
uninspired complaints.
they say... – by Joe Strickland | 6 Views added 7 months ago
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has a religion
some people just don't know
they're praying to the altar
of their own selfish desires.
their gods are made of money
and power, and fleeting fame.
they worship at the church
of their own reflection's... – by Joe Strickland | 5 Views added 7 months ago
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stars above
a mess
of light years
and dead dreams.
orion's belt,
a rusty gate
hanging crooked
in the sky,
a constellation
of broken
promises and shattered
hopes.
cassiopeia's chair,
a throne
of splintered wood
and rust.
... – by Joe Strickland | 10 Views added 7 months ago
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words are violence
they cut deep
into the flesh of our inspiration
leaving disfigurements
that never settle,
and silence is violence,
a heavy weight
that crushes the animation
from our lungs
leaving us gasping for air,
and... – by Joe Strickland | 8 Views added 7 months ago
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world is a
cruel mistress.
she tantalizes us
with glimpses
of a beauty
that could be,
but then snatches
it away,
leaving us to face
the khthonix
alone and afraid.
we stumble on,
deer in headlights,
deer in sunlight,
forever... – by Joe Strickland | 10 Views added 7 months ago
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was held in my object
and I felt her reasons
like a bruise on my tongue
where the words got stuck
and the city outside
was a dirty mirror
reflecting our silences
the way a stranger's gaze
can undress you on the street.
and I thought I... – by Joe Strickland | 13 Views added 7 months ago
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is beautiful
in its ability
to hold the gaze
of the beholder
like a lover's
unflinching stare.
it asks what do
you see in me?
lines have so many
meanings.
what do you... – by Joe Strickland | 14 Views added 7 months ago
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mirrored hall of echoes
a figure emerges
from the fog of forgotten
melodies.
his eyes a pair of warm,
comforting arms
around a child
polished by the friction
of a thousand midnights
spent searching
for the perfect
harmony.
... – by Joe Strickland | 8 Views added 7 months ago
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modern trends
it is still wrong
to hate anyone
because of their race.
the way Nuon Chan's eyes
darken like a bruise
when she remembers
the words they used
to call her in the streets
of a country that wasn't hers,
where she was... – by Joe Strickland | 9 Views added 7 months ago
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here's the thing
about the game.
it's all just a facade
a bunch of empty suits
shaking hands and smiling
while the rest of us
get trampled in the dust.
they want you to choose,
to take a side,
to wear a jersey,
and scream at the top
of... – by Joe Strickland | 14 Views added 7 months ago
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like
for mental health
awareness month
everyone decided
to lose their minds
in the most
performative ways,
a social media frenzy
of fragile hearts
and hashtags
that cut like a dull knife.
the same ones
who called me crazy
... – by Joe Strickland | 12 Views added 7 months ago
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neon signs
that once
flickered
like fireflies
on summer
evenings
now dimly
pulse
in the hollow
of memory.
five and dimes
where
grandmothers bought
gloves
and garters
now vacant lots
where weeds
push through.
the... – by Joe Strickland | 4 Views added 7 months ago
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checks
aren't meant to be cashed.
the promise
of something later
always a mirage
on the horizon,
a whispered maybe
in the dark.
forgotten in the crease
of a wallet,
crumpled
like a discarded map
leading nowhere
in... – by Joe Strickland | 5 Views added 7 months ago
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is an illusion.
but what else can we call
the ache in our chests
when we lose someone
we thought we knew?
illusion or not,
we still bleed,
we still weep,
we still wake up
each morning
hoping to find
ourselves still... – by Joe Strickland | 9 Views added 7 months ago
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what if the words
never come?
what if the silence stretches on,
endless?
a hiatus of doubt,
of fear,
of uncertainty
an exordium without
a middle or end?
I stumble,
I fall,
I pick myself up
I write and rewrite,
trying to... – by Joe Strickland | 9 Views added 7 months ago
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knows the gentle
caress of luxury
familiar with the soft
whispers of desire.
her eyes a map
of worn streets
where only the brave
or the foolish roam.
he wears chromatic colors
on his boots,
A duplicitous look,
accompanied by... – by Joe Strickland | 10 Views added 7 months ago
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i'm drunk,
but i can see a haze
of what's left.
we're still searching
for the threads
of a coat of many colors
once woven
with drifts of love
and expansion.
now the fabric's frayed,
tattered remnants
of a dream
that promised to
... – by Joe Strickland | 9 Views added 7 months ago
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seems impossible to me
that time had a beginning,
like a mouth that's never known
the wetness of another's tongue.
how could time begin
without there already being
time to begin with,
like a hand that's never grasped
the curve of a... – by Joe Strickland | 16 Views added 7 months ago
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generally
prefer art that has no
blatant meaning.
i want to be
allowed
to interpret things
for myself.
that's the poet in... – by Joe Strickland | 8 Views added 7 months ago
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the tongues
of strangers
i hear the words slipping
like worn-out soles
on the pavement
of meaning.
for a moment I thought
you said "on" when you meant
"of" but it was just
the whiskey talking.
in our collective
ignorance
we... – by Joe Strickland | 16 Views added 7 months ago
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morning light
creeps in
like a dirty secret.
no more
crumpled pages,
no more
coffee-stained
charm.
newspapers
used to give us
that extra bit
of motivation and
some free breasts
to start the day.
now it's just a hollow
... – by Joe Strickland | 4 Views added 7 months ago
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i sit,
inebriated,
in the dimly lit tavern
of my mind.
i nurse
a whiskey-stained
critique
of all the souls
who dare to breathe
beside me.
their flaws are
unavoidable.
to arms,
to words that cut
like knives
but the truth,
... – by Joe Strickland | 9 Views added 7 months ago
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i'm committed
to the evolution of my soul,
a work in progress,
a painting of becoming,
and unbecoming,
where the brushstrokes
of experience
are layered
upon the palimpsest
of my consciousness.
whatever young joe would think,
it... – by Joe Strickland | 9 Views added 7 months ago
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I am clearly too
sesquipedalian
for you,
drunk on words
that swirl like cheap
whiskey
in the gutter
of your understanding.
my vocabulary
a middle finger
flipped at the simplicity
you crave,
a world of plain talk
and dull skies.
... – by Joe Strickland | 9 Views added 7 months ago
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the dark ages
of rationality,
where the only light
is the glow
of our screens,
the only truth
is the one we tell
... – by Joe Strickland | 7 Views added 7 months ago
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