If I Believe in Forever Then Forever is Today? I’d accommodate memories Inside contemplation If intoxicated midnight Didn’t revile 3pm soberness. Like rainfall placed aside To fill an ocean- I clarify touch as a rippling sense Impersonating morning- But I am always aware Of the water’s gleam Diamonds only shine When illuminated. That’s why darkness exists As a favor. A Fearless Junky, Sorta Plastic barrel flicked, Stoic rubber tip Descended like a frown. “We’ve discovered progress!” He claimed while his protracted beard Collected ashes off the table, He characterized walls With a slotted stare- His conversation perfumed From chain smoking. “And you’re not afraid of death,” I asked. “Nah,” He replied And from a tiny void Leaked a trail of blood That navigated through bulging veins Mottled with polka-dot scabs, “I haven’t even lived enough….” “What do you mean?” Beneath the open window A police siren resounded Through brick laden buildings Bordering the alley. He initiated laughter Pitched to match the siren. We fell asleep shortly after, But I was awakened by his screams A symptom of his night terrors. A symptom of ignored fear… The Existential Consequence of Seeing an Ex at a Bar Lisa approached me at the bar- We embraced with a Hug & hello. But the implication Perceived through acknowledgement Wasn’t to cultivate our sterile friendship. No. Her intention was to arouse His possessive tendencies (He fucks her harder when she does). We continued with our dialogue. She asked if I was still writing. I swallowed a gulp of beer And wiped off a foam mustache Stuck to my facial stubble, “Wouldn’t be living without it.” “Your words always… Always had an impact on me,” She smiled. A fleck of something green Appeared lodged between her teeth, “Do you still write about me?” I paused. Thought. Took another drink. Then he walked over. Stoic in demeanor Wrinkleless face bland of expression. We shook hands like Churchill and Stalin. “No,” I told her in response. “Why not?” Her reply Corresponded with her Stroking his hair. And I remembered When she would touch me that way. And how cold her fingertips felt, Parting the follicles and touching scalp. “I just don’t think about you,” I said. “What are guys talking about?” He asked. Lisa and I glanced at each other Then she broke the stare, Leaned and kissed him. “Nothing,” She explained, “let’s go dance.” Off they tramped Into a room Illuminated by rainbow lights Directed towards the band on stage- While I sat in darkness Smiling as I watched ignorance Indulge bliss.
A.J. BINASH IS A POST-POST-POST-MODERNIST WRITER FROM LA CROSSE, WI. HE HATES WRITING 3RD PERSON BIOS BECAUSE, “A SHORT DESCRIPTION OF LIFE IS AN ENIGMA, BUT ONLY IF TIME ISN’T LINEAR.” HE ENJOYS WRITING POETRY, READING BOOKS BY SARTRE, AND RECOGNIZING THE IMPORTANCE OF EVERY CHOICE MADE INSIDE EVERY MOMENT. SELAH VIE, ETC, ETC, ETC…