VOICES FROM THE FIRE: Kevin M. Hibshman

Different Day

It’s a different day.

Hope registers as a pain very familiar yet

impossible to locate.

Last night tossed aloft on a pure wave of

intoxication.

It’s a different day.

I wake up feeling strange.

Everything looks the same, but the air has shifted,

altering cognition.

I recognize the stains.

It’s a different day.

Sunshine haze filters through a venusian dreamscape,

milky-blue.

The mirror ablaze with reluctant shadows eaten slowly.

Same old room.

Four walls compete to squeeze me tight until

it becomes difficult to breathe.

Thinking of you.

Alone

My nights are bad and long.

My friends with talent have all moved on.

They left to chase the big time in populous places with

at least two airports each.

My friends without prospects are raising children,

cleaning up after their pets.

They want to talk about divorce settlements and

mortgage payments.

My old, once reliable drinking buddies only leave the

house to attend A.A. Meetings or prayer circles.

Kicking their various addictions has left them with no

sense of humor at all.

No Problem Officer

The cop on his bike glances at me rather disinterestedly.

He knows that I am only looking to harm myself.

Crying In The Rain

Cuz it’s gone, daddy, gone.

All the love in the world smoked like

a cigarette,

Reduced to ash.

The awful taste in my mouth won’t wash out.

Are You There?

Hi!

It’s crazy eyes!

What are you doing tonight?

I got the strangulation fever.

Will you resign to meeting me anywhere?

Hey!

It’s now 9:45.

I am dressed to impress.

I just need a ride.

How about getting tore up from the floor up?

Anyplace but mine is fine.

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