The more you stay inside the worse
It gets out there.
People like remnants of rumors
Chattering through plaster and two by fours
Maybe mindless maybe headless
The tiles of the room grow
The doors widen
The ceiling becomes
As a firsthand sky.
It becomes an idiosyncratic
Detail to leave in order to buy food.
A senile disorder descended
From generation to generation.
The prophetical jukebox of
Computer speakers sing
Time will break the world.
Delivery men startle back by
Eye contact and shuffle for the right change.
Running home with a small story to tell.
Thank god for locks, pillows and blackout curtains.
The steady mind ferments
The restless leg finally stops
Like a dog giving up the hopes of a walk.
The mirror, a conversation piece
Where it's fun to try on strange sunglasses
Ridiculous clothing, leftover lipstick
Pieces of people you know you knew.
Thank god for carrier pigeons, books, and thin walls.
Oh, you can create your own bad mimic of weather
Trap flies like a lower management god
The air hangs in the corner being
Bullied by an epileptic A/C unit.
Thank god for good music you never have to share with anyone.
There's no need for a settling happiness
When there's no guideline for comparison.
Thank god for the writer's digestion, the cool nights where time doesn't seem so long.
Thank god for rain and bookfuls of excuses.
Thank god for kitchen sinks and layered blankets.
The day has wasted itself away,
Drained back into trees and shadowed by sun
I am not a fan of such happenstance.
I am not one to apologize for my existence
But I didn't mean to.
Thank god for stories of crackpot scientists creating a small universe in the bathtub.
I wish for 30 days of midday.
I wish for the banishment of continuing ideas.
I wish for more canned goods in all aspect of life.
Frederic Levesque is from Montreal, Canada, has lived in Ciudad Obregon, Mexico, Key West, Florida, and now is resting for a short time in Atlanta, Georgia. His poems have appeared in Spork Press, Stray Dog Almanac, and Stillpoint Magazine.