feeling comfy in your own skin

he wore green pants
—and no it wasn’t saint paddy’s day

he wore green pants
and he’s not even irish
he just likes the way they look

one day he told his girlfriend
maybe I’ll put on green pants
every morning from here on out

she agreed they looked good on him

he was never envious
or money hungry
didn’t care for pea soup
or mowing the lawn
but he liked to wear green pants
and that became his true identity


may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

lost inside the world wide web

she said if I would stop working
on trying to solve the mystery
of the universe
maybe we’d be living
by the sea by now

I pretended not to hear
magnifying glass in hand
following the spider
making its way across the rug

and you should take that thing down
she went on to say
pointing at the corner ceiling
at the microcosm
of the world wide web


may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

on the tip of your tongue

what stands out
is hard to recognize
like a piece of art
you’ve looked at for maybe
five minutes
before moving on

it’s right there
in your grasp
that indescribable something
that’s supposed
to make your life and/or
death easier

in either case
it leads you into thinking
it’s the unheard of
the unseen
that needs your dire attention
more than anything


may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

after turning back around

I walked along the river
its current
streaming through
bone conduction headphones

I turn the volume up
using thought commands
—the early spring leaves
in the very tall trees
growing greener
by the minute

the eagle sees the crow
but not vice versa
hawks circling overhead
escorting me along
the shoulder of the road
zeroing in on the welcome sign
at a trailhead

the river reminds me
home is further from the truth
suggesting its best
to stay close to her banks


may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

hangover

though the thrill remains
it has taken a backseat
come monday morning
the rooster down the road
late to the party
mainly due to the fallout
of the geomagnetic night sky


may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

home on a sunday

it was mother’s day
and graduation
the weather was awesome
sunshine & a few fluffy clouds
some with heart-shaped holes in them
—a cool wind out of the northwest

and if you’re stuck inside
trying to write poetry
you’re probably wasting your time


may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

in the land of purple unicorns

reality is a bit overrated
what with its wars
and all the pretending
that goes along with it
various men sporting colors
not making much sense
in this day and age—
red & yellow & orange


may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

An unintelligent device

I was thinking about the clock
how he said it was made in Korea
that he couldn’t read
the instructions that came with it

Over time he learned
how to make it work properly

It was a handsome clock
featuring day & time
sunrise & sunset
but what stood out to me
was how he said it wasn’t smart

One day it lay on the couch
in the living room
lifeless & undisturbed
somewhat like a stillborn baby

I remember him distinctly shouting
‘don’t touch it’

It’s just resting he went on to say
I couldn’t muster the strength
to place it back on the wall

And so in the morning
we got it back on the wall
back hanging on the set screw
day & time
sunrise & sunset
back to where it should be


may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

gradual pull

we live in a vacuum
the suction excruciatingly slow
you don’t ever notice
at least not when you’re alive
and in good health

it’s like a reverse form of gravity
picking away at the skin
eventually bone
it’s how a stone’s face
reinvents itself time & again

what’s lost is unlikely lost
simply misplaced
like a memory or birthday wish
tugging on your hemline
temporarily elusive


may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

a clandestine operation

they say the numbers look good
so off they go

shipped in the middle of the night

when the old numbers go out
new ones come in
and with a little tweaking
or some massaging
or altogether reworked
they too will look good
and off they go

shipped in the middle of the night

sometimes the numbers don’t work out
the way they should
and the outcome manifests itself
into minor or major accidents
an occasional total death & destruction

and when the latter is the case
the number crunchers will be handcuffed
and taken away
each one replaced by something shiny & new


may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

test of time

where do we go
once time stands still
like a flamingo preening
in shallow water
lost in endless thought

behold the eternal flame
trapped inside a frozen cave
indistinguishable from time
secluded like a dream

if only you could find
the formulaic language
of putting time in a nutshell
buried in the spring
by the keeper of the stars


may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

nothing much

she asked what I had
done all day
this after doing god knows what
from nine to five

for a second I thought it was
a trick question
but I quickly regrouped
and said I’d spent most of the day
watching the war in real time

in my mind
the better question might be
what’s that sweet smell
you got going on in the kitchen


may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

this is not a drill

an early evening
aircraft flying overhead
one after the other
—even the cat taking notice
letting out
a long sigh of relief
safe behind the sectional


may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Aftermath

Heaven is comfort, but it’s still not living.
― Alice Sebold, The Lovely Bones

I was working on a lullaby
right around midnight
searching for words that rhyme with
worms & undercover

They say the funnel cloud
sounds like a fast approaching locomotive
but it’s nothing more than a mere dream
when a child is fast asleep

If you ever tore anything to pieces
with your own bare hands
you might have an appreciation for
the reality of true brute force


may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

lesson four-twenty

a philosopher friend
once told me
try to look at this way
when the dream becomes reality
death is no longer an option

he was pretty stoned
at the time
so i didn’t want to ruin his buzz
yet the more I thought about it
the less I was concerned
about dying


may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Private eyes

I cut back the rose bushes
branches & stems & canes
right down to the green

It is early April & cold
a slight wind bemoaning change
—& just like in a recurring dream
a set of eyes (or maybe two)
watching
my every move

I should be wearing gloves
but I never do
my hands with an occasional puncture
blood beading & oozing here & there—
their eyes focused on the color scarlet
I imagine they are imagining
what it would taste like
to lick my wounds

I try to guess what animal
the eyes belong to
but they are shadowless
& possess no language

how I know they are there
remains a mystery to me
but a movement of light in my peripheral
has me looking inward


may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved