Poetry / Poets

The Crash by Frank Reardon

the dark afternoon sky,
lonely liquor bottles
giving color
to the bar,

men trying
to forget

their angry wives,

it’s all
the same;

the ashtrays
of the world
full of butts,

the barking dogs
inside the head
of a hangover,

the pain
of black coffee
in the stomach,

the shrink
saying
the same goddamned
thing over
& over,

the bashful flowers
hiding
inside the heart,

love lining
the thickness
of the skull,

the starving footprints
in the snow
left by the wild cats
at the backdoor,

it’s all
the same;

the black rings
of creeping death
inside the bathtub,

never ending
piles
of dishes
blowing OCD
kisses,

a symphony of pills
to cure
the silence

no cards,or letters
in the mailbox,
just bills
without the money,

too many poems,too much prose;
pounding the keys,
trying to find
a voice
of running water
to calm the flames,

no cause,
no reason,

too many broken spines
& pages piled up
around the house;
the greatest trick
ever known,

wondering if a fresh coat
of paint
will fix the yellow
stained walls,

children praying
that their parents
are who they say
they are,

guilt by the crack
of the whip
& relief by the kick
of the boot,

short steps
into the bathroom
where it looks
the same
as the parlor
& kitchen,

long hallways
without paintings
at the end,

long roads
without nirvana;

if i ever tried to sleep
it off,
i would sleep
for eternity.

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2 thoughts on “The Crash by Frank Reardon

  1. Frank Reardon was born in 1974 in Boston, Massachusetts and spent his first 28 years living there. Since then, he has lived all over the country in places such as Alabama, Kansas City and Rhode Island. He currently lives in the Badlands of North Dakota,still looking for a way to get out. Frank has been published in various reviews, journals and online zines. His first book, Interstate Chokehold, was published by NeoPoiesis Press in 2009 and his second Nirvana Haymaker was published by NeoPoiesis Press in 2012. Frank is in the process of completing a third poetry collection

  2. Powerful and poignant to the point of wishing it weren’t true, but knowing it is for some of us. The hope is that our empathy will mean something to each other.

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