Wandering off oft, traversing galaxies
& dream worlds
Tugging at the silver cord
From light years away
Like campfire songs
Made of etheric bodies
Vibrating with the Clacking
Of forceful devotion
The huddled form of a pilgrim
At the crossroads next to a fire
St. Anthony of Padua like
Holding two big stones
Slamming them together in holy
While the etheric double dances wolf like
3 circles around the secret concert
Directed by the angels inside the sun
Their whispered music of hidden fire
Encrypting our entire being with the
Eternal language of creation
The energy fueling all movement as we spin
Never ceasing cyclical breath
A Special “One Hit” Tonight – I’ve known this man for quite a few years &
he is slapping my face with his words – he doesn’t usually work the short
poem but goddamn, I’m impressed… so impressed this issue is just his.
This is the real McCoy, folks
It’s a Saturday night on trash mountain
-For my girlfriend-
Lost four universes beneath the fake smile
as she locomoted across the room,
snagging my soul in her leggins
my scream muted by pubes, I fell in love,
damned & tormented from the start.
Forging breath into the unique whirl of time,
I sold the signature of god as if it were mine.
This right hand, creation was easy, seven pens later,
I asked her if she knew who stole the lights
of heaven, she began gouging out her eyes,
weeping to kiss the face of dawn.
Sometimes, these words grow like weeds,
suffocating my lungs , drowning my soul,
sometimes, these words suck me off,
& leave me spent wasted & dreaming of stars
Sometimes, I miss being alone
making another cup of joe,
listening to someone else’s voice;
these are just illusions I enjoy
beating my soul into the corner,
wishing / constantly wishing.
crossing the Rubicon
Tomorrow came nowhere near me,
another notebook into ash.
another year to regret.
So what’s keeping it stitched together?
maybe stupidity or fear. Or maybe it’s
just too late to turn back now.
-I love you-
seething against the sun, my headache becomes
purity/ beating the silence into submission,
these words call to you, my dark love,
hungry for your oblivious teat, I howl & whine,
waiting, dear, to be scarred one more time.
–my bitter pill- (laughing out loud)
Wanting to forget about 27 years of life.
wanting to have never been ripped from the womb.
yet too afraid of time to suicide another soul.
jokes are meant for those trapped by a word.
& my word. My word is forlorn.
Freighted for eternity,
my skull collides with time.
Have you seen the world inside you,
who is me, & you entering
Coffee, black, like hell in the morning.
can I have a bit of sugar?
Can I have a dream?
Pistol muting Gabriel’s call,
The universe is just like that first kiss.
filled with thorns.
©2022 Merritt Waldon All rights reserved.
Merritt Waldon (born 1974 in Madison, Indiana) is a Southern Indiana poet who has been published in Road Dawgz, Sun Poetic Times, The Brooklyn Rail, Be About It Zine, River Dogs zine #1, Sparring with Beatnik Ghosts, Americans & others anthology fourth edition & sixth edition, Crisis Chronicles, Cajun Mutt Press, Thye Rye Whiskey Review, FEARLESS!, Twizted TungZ magazine, Voices from the fire(dumpster fire press), The Black Shamrock magazine, Feversofthemind.com, Strange Gods of the Prairie (Gasconade Review), Cooch Behar Anthology edited by Sourav Sarkar. At midnight Christmas night 2020, Cajun Mutt Press released Oracles from a Strange Fire by Ron Whitehead & Merritt. Also, his second & third books Pistol City Blues (2021) & Madison Street Screams & Smoke Break Poems (2022) were published by Deadmans Press Ink. He has a forthcoming book from Cajun Mutt Press in 2023. More details coming soon.