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  • Nathan Weakley

Four Short, Untitled Poems

Alright, I got sick of writing about art this week. I hope you like these.

It’s nice to see you all

But I’m going to have to leave

Because I hate this street for being part of my past

And I hate this room 

Because the people in it don’t know me anymore

And these decorations were chosen 

With somebody else’s tastes in mind

So goodbye,

Thank you,

And sorry,

Where did I leave my keys?

You came to me

In another person’s dream

I can only remember bits and pieces

Like your soft hair on my shoulders

That felt like tall grass between my toes 

When I was much younger,

A different world,

Warmed by sunlight, 

Vanished at sunrise,

A thousand miles away

Somewhere in my mind

You were throwing wrinkled dollar bills 

Out the window

While the cars passing below

Left their marks on the quiet

And when sight and sound rushed back in

I felt so cold

With the memory of your head on my chest

Don’t be so vulgar

I love you

And I’m glad I said it

Wide-eyed you told me

You were waiting for 

the sky to fall down

In black velvet sheets

And swallow the both of us

With heavy heads and dry throats

We dragged ourselves

Through the mud

And emerged pristine 

In the yellow glow of a streetlamp

Late last night

She set alight the stove

And I felt its warmth in the attic up above

Out the window 

There was something going on,

But I couldn’t make it out

A conflict amongst forms bitter and obscure

And a far-away sound

Like coyotes marauding 

There was a call going unanswered,

A plea swallowed by the wind

The image of her face 

Convinced me that the danger

Was only in my mind,

Or else beyond it entirely


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