Tales From The Happy Monkey

I am pleased to present the first piece from my collection of poetics, Tales From The Happy Monkey. I welcome your dialogue and hope that the work connects with you and that you’ll join me as the series unfolds.

I Am Not Given

Jesus, when did this room get so small?
The walls have crept
My shoulders rub on either side
The man on the hill
Screaming into the night
I thought a stranger
With unending valleys
Cut down and across
I see is me
The scream is here
On my tongue
In my heart
Should I open my mouth to let it out?
It might not stop
The muted given unending voice
Will you try to reform
The ragged lines
Into soft shapes
Of what you call beautiful
At this meeting of roads
Where the wreckage spills it’s terror
Onto gawking passersby
I am not given to your mirth
But the truth that murmurs
Inside you by day
Wailing + ripping
When sleep won’t come
I am not given to your ease
Nor mine
I hear your voices
Pooled in the air
Telling tales of things
Lost + forgotten

I’ve come to remind you.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s