Insular
I walk without destination
into dark rooms of open mouths
inhaling tall burgers to the tunes
of Fleetwood Mac. Maybe I am
in a betting mood. With a glass
of ketchup. Enough to shield
myself from rain, box
breathing to get outside
of my mind, the little
labyrinth suspended
by liquid, my own dose
of poison, a Rogue
Dead Guy Ale when
feeling extra lonesome.
Everywhere I go I run
into someone I know
on a surface level. Please
ask me some questions.
Let me stretch outside
myself, just a smidge.
Ohio Hug
repeat until the embrace is correct:
hands locked
on each other in the credit-
card slot armpits
look down–
O, the space
between your arms leads
to drop to hardwood floor
look at your line of arm
across the chasm of two bodies–
H
slide in–
two-body tethered line–
I – only
up from here
stand apart again– the open mouth–
O, the shouting
not into the void
but certainly the space, the canyon
between the opening of your life and
how many times you can begin again
Nashville Trains
will slow then stop during rush
hour, blocking all traffic
for an hour. They start
fast– hundreds of boxcars
moving with certainty
and determination north,
and I’ll think nothing
of it when it’s like this.
When graffiti is a blur.
At some point I will
have been waiting a long
time, and I’m able
to read the scrawls of
amateur artist names.
In that stopped state–
my relationship with MF
is going nowhere.
It has been at the loading
point for too long. I turn
my car around and go
a different way. One night–
with someone new–
we look for a shortcut
to your place. We walk
through grass by tracks
when you say death
happens a lot at tracks.
And then we say
that’s not gonna happen
tonight. The train we
watch together blocks
our path. We’re trying
a fast way when all
we know is zigzag
puzzle piece. We turn
around to go the way
we know, and the train
ends, gone in a second.
Peach
Yesterday we sat on the stairs
to our bedroom asking how
did we exist so conflict-free? Now
it is the future happening further
and further without you, always
moving even when standing still,
the mind a peach in entropy
binding the past to memory,
a husk bittersweet,
transforming.
Mind Silence
Just think of nothing, you said,
and my mind focused on a circle
with a dot in the middle.
Let nothing creep in– but
I saw words forming
along the perimeter
threatening to break inside.
Mandy was the first invader,
riding a four-wheeler in Utah.
Her blonde hair flowing
in the wind led to Christian, who
died in an accident in the woods
after high school because
he didn’t wear a helmet.
Once the train of thoughts
entered, it was a flood of
sunlight loose correlations.
When you placed your face
on my chest, it was a miracle
I fell asleep.
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Thank you, James Croal, for “Insular & Other Poems.” It’s a privilege to share your poetry with Eckleburg readers.