It's a new day

Fear

In the twilight of this bland day
the chaos in my head is overwhelming.
With not a soul to speak with
and not a bowl to smoke
I am faced with the reality of life.

January will make one year sober.
They say it gets easier with time
but time is all I have
yet I feel it running out.

Just keep going I tell myself.
Move forward and things will fall into place.
Still the more money I have
the more bills pile up until I can't take it.

I am a child.
A newborn thirty year-old man
with another child on the way.

Most parents must ask themselves
if they are ready to be a responsible role model
and loving father who will teach their children
right from wrong while protecting them from the world.

But that is not my fear.

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Quick Pick Me Up

As I sleepwalk through the morning
it wakes me in the afternoon with a sour chill.
Still a sweetness I cannot resist.
It tastes like chemical oranges
and smells like metallic tangerines.
It’s marketed as Khaos.
Partly, I’m sure, because too many
make my mind feel a little chaotic.
But it provides quick energy
when there’s no time for lunch
and the nights are too short for sleep.
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The Money Man

I was approached by a representative of a local publishing company
while eating lunch in the same bar I go to everyday.
He said, “Hi, I’m so and so from such and such publishing…”
Then he waited for my response as if I should be impressed.
I glanced at him briefly then back up to the television.
“I am putting together a collection from local poets.”
Grabbing the remote from atop the bar I quickly changed the channel to Fox News.
For those who might not know Fox News is a ratings-driven, sensationalist station
with over the top graphics and pathetic human interest stories that a child could see through.
This guy was Fox News. I could see dollar signs all over him.
He actually smelled like money but not freshly printed money, rather,
old and dirty money that had changed hands too many times.
“I’ve read some of your work and I would like to include you in the collection.”
“Where did you read my work?”
“Online, your website isn’t easy to find but we at such and such publishing think that you represent
a raw and powerful artistic vision that many people could relate to.”
“Fuck off! Come see me in ten years if your company is still around.”
He walked out and I changed the television back to CNN Headline news.
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My Key On Her Collar

There’s a poodle with the key to my cage
on her collar
yelping at me across the top row
when the lights go out.
I sit alongside mangled chew toys
and an over-turned water dish.
In an over-sized cage
that hasn’t been cleaned in weeks,
I sit, with large paws that reach across
but I have no thumbs with which to grasp
the key that holds my freedom.
Everyday there are less of us.
We are the unwanted, the unclaimed,
the lost, and those who have no home.
Every night when the lights go out
I wonder if I’m next.
I dream of running across the open field
back to my owner, my family, my life.
Every night the dream is the same.
And every day I wake up
to the yelping of that damn poodle
with my key on her collar.