Murder
He was sentenced to life
Murder, they said
In a fit of jealous rage
and blind anger
Finding wife
getting dirty
Not keeping
hoeing
to garden work
As the couple
next door
argues loudly,
I remind
myself
never to
contemplate
murder
for
MY life's
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poem by Carsten Thomsen
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Truckstop Eyes
Those eyes
of a girl
On The Road
calling home
from a truck stop
in rural
Missouri.
She turned
and faced me,
smiling,
those eyes
seeing
the vastness
of the world
for the very
first time.
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Green
Under constant barrage
of your texted
accusations
I stood my ground
as the Laotian waitress
with the big breasts
and the cute smile
inquired about your
whereabouts
“She still number one? ”
She enquired
and smiled
I Inhaled
and exhaled
“Still The One! ”
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Me, Too good for You
You're too good for me
You deserve someone better
She told me again
After
Breaking up
My World
For the last
Time
And I looked back
On myself
And realize
With shame
I was to blame
For my
Faithfulness
Honesty
And love
When obviously
All you needed
All along
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I Pity You
I pity
and envy
you
your dumb
safe lives
and dreams.
Your
predictable
nothingness
and lack
of originality
and willingness
to let go of
what has already
been done
to death
before.
The key
I hold
unlocked
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I have Friends, you know...
I have friends
you know
Friends
who buy coke
a 100 grams
at a time,
from bearded men
on big bikes.
Friends
who keeps
their guns
loaded and
whose nocturnal
adventures
appear in papers
Who occasionally
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Nutsack
Shrunken old nutsacks
and sagging breasts
depleted of sap
Your
body shutting down
As time turns
nimble hands
to clenched claws
One foot in the grave
you count
the seconds
and wait
while I watch
you
cling to
memory off
trembling flesh
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The other Guy / me 2.01
The other Guy
The new and improved
Me 2.01
Now a part of your
Real Reality
My counterpart
in this parallel universe
Who is perhaps
just now
sitting in your kitchen
Enjoying morning
coffee
Unaware of my pain
Noticing only -
The smile in your eyes
The curves of you
and a heart that
still beats
I check for my own
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Perfect and Past
Never was the perfect girlfriend
you told me
Looking the part
though seldom acting it
you proclaimed innocence
for the stolen kisses
and 2 in the morning
late night call
'I'm not your past! ! '
you told me
in hurt
wounded
indignation
'We just good friends! ! '
you told me then
demoting me to same
We still talk
though only at your
time and leisure
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The 6th Floor
On the 6th floor.
Skyline torn
by thunderstorm.
Below me only air
and asphalt.
Standing at my window,
one step from murder
early morning.
Yawning.
Stretching.
Beer in hand
I light up,
inhaling that first toke.
Exhaling fragments
of dreams of
men with
yellow teeth
and black hearts
who did wrong
and love that
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