mope along

we talk about things
that don’t matter

we have grasshoppers
in our mouths

our words are
muttered mustard molds

the subway train
approaches
and we don’t even have
our eyes open yet

we breathe inside
the lyrics of songs
we’ve never
heard

and our blood
curdles
like milk
whenever
sensitivity
is presented.



we used the darkness as a light

and when we finally got home,
we made love for so long,
I slipped into a trance
that brought me
closer to you…

closer than I ever thought I could get.

and then I got sick
and fell asleep by the toilet
and when I awoke in the morning,
the sun shone less brightly
and my mind ached
like arthritic hands
that would type
my masterpiece
less enthusiastically.


Josh Thompson is a poet and short fiction writer from Brooklyn, NY. His work has appeared in Drown In My Own Fears, Thick With Conviction, Poetry Superhighway and Literary Road. He bartends at night and spends his days searching for women and meaning while still unsure of that particular combination.