In your absence

in your absence
 it seems there is less me

my wine doesn't last
 as long

the days are never satisfied
 the gardens are filled with dead flowers

we will have our time again

 our time will be fat with laughter

- Joshua Weir

(featured in the poetry forum 10.07.09)

LIFE IN THE SLOW LANE

puffed up slow brain
light the little pathways through burned out nerves
through worn out eyes
watching clumsy hands
reach out pour drink lift
lap like a worn out mongrel dog
the infinite coolnes of the liquid

the infinite slowness of everything
everything slow and gray

lift cup drink

as you strain through the dust
and slumber of a thousand forgotten years
all the waste
the waste
the waste
lift cup
drink till its gone

till every drop is gone

- Joshua Weir

(featured in the poetry forum 09.01.09)

Alone all day

forlorn and forgetful the winter storm
dances outside my window
i lie against the head board reading old allen ginsberg
i shake in my nearly dry covers
she hangs her arms over me whistling her nose as she sleeps
i like reading when she rests her body against me
like i am not reading the words alone
like they are poored from my insomnia into her dreams
and i lie awake like that all night
till i see the sun
and the radio stings the the room with incoherent music
she is awake and i am defenless against the noise
my head pounds, my throat is dry
i roll over and close my eyes
fight the light breaking through the window
she is preparing for the day
i lie in the warm bed and watch her
listen to her move through the house
i kiss her goodbye
i kiss her good night
i sleep because there is no wolrd outside
i sleep alone
snarling in my slumber i fight off
everything
madness
starvation
and mostly madness

- Joshua Weir

It will all make sense
 
in the poor ragged day i walk
quietly to the run down gas station up the street
the loose change in my pocket clinking with my steps
my stomach growls as walk past the taco bell
my eyes water in the wind
 
dollar nineteen later
siping cold beer
walking back through the
foul air
to my wooden chair
typing and typing
sick and sick
 
depleted unrested
typing and typing
 
i sip cold beer and squirm in the
unpadded seat of the wooden chair
the wooden chair a cage
i can't escape
 
i shuffle through the pages
of the poetry publishers guide
trying to find a hole in the ice through which i can surface
and breath
 
i sip room temprature beer
and type
 
...i am sending three poems for your consideration...
 
i lean the wooden chair back stretch my finger toward the carpet
scramble through words and memories good memories
terrible memories
 
this is the day
the horrible day trapped
by the wooden chair
blinking blinded
and undone by memories
i sip warm beer
and type
 
and it all makes sense
it all makes sense

- Joshua Weir

Pills and Collisions

we went to a party
we stumbled throught the door
into rooms full of half naked bat girls
and all the guys seemed to be pirates
i didn't care much for the people though
i wasn't there for them
i was there to hide in the confusion
keep the world s scope of reason off my back
 
before long jay is dancing in the back yard feeling the sensation of freedom
stefan is roaming the rooms going from person to person trying to find himself
nate is lost in the confusion talking to girls and smoking the last of his camels
while katyrn leans close into me and kisses my cheek and i close my eyes to see the
fire better.
 
with the clouds of people floating around us
we gather our little perceptions and whisper them back and forth
with the clouds of people laughing and drinking around us
we circle the wagons to protect our small and fleeting moments
of happiness that we found in a pill
our electric eclectic collection of thoughts and humanities
drifting like ghosts on the cool air.
 
i drink my beer and laugh with my feet proped to close to the fire
melting the bottoms of my shoes
and before the party has hit the high note
i know
 
its a good night for colliding with life
its a good night to see the sparks of peoples desires
explode in the night

- Joshua Weir