Tuesday Night Post # 2-5 / by DBL

Good evening to you all,

On this slow and grueling Tuesday evening my body seeks to lay in the soft heap that exists in the bedroom I have created in my head which is filled with foam like material that gives to my weight just enough to make me feel like I have no mass but still have a shape.


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Every time I open my jaw I can hear it rip from its joint
You know when you are sitting in the grass
Mind wondering
Hands that yet to go idle
Ripping moist green grass
As you mindlessly listen to your lover’s story
That feeling
That rip
That sound
That’s it
I open and close my mouth wanting to hear the noise
Feel the discomfort
Maybe it’s just to convince myself that
that is what it sounds like
Or it’s just that I still don’t believe that my jaw is doing that awful sound
Well eventually I forget cuz the dull pain at my temple starts to wander in
Maybe it’s the opening and closing of my mouth that has allowed the pain to return
or most likely it’s the five blows to my head in the last month
Hmmm but one wasn’t even to my temple
Ok to be honest three to the temple
One to the cheek
and another flashing one to the right side of the back of my skull
Elementary says the one to the back of my head would be the one to worry about
That one was the least of my troubles
Some say life can hand you a beating
But when that beating manifests itself to multiple beatings
That’s just a joke high tailored for irony only seen around these parts
Much jokes have meaning so what is the meaning of this one
What does it mean that the struggle did not end with me getting the worst of it
But feeling it
Sunken in the buff at the edge of the water
Sunglasses glaring this magnificent sight back whence it came from
Hat dipped low
Face trying to find refuge from this glorious sun
I sulk
Not in pain
Not in depression
Not in anger
But in existence
I play back the new visuals I have learned
The new stories to lament
This edge of earth I have built a humble home for this
moment of near life …
I’ve lost my train of thought and all I can hear is that
ripping sound
Sometimes the body is a glitch of useful actions
coagulating to a gunk of festering reactions
I have a perfect seat for this momentous view
The grey clouds that I have been enjoying
Orange glow reflected below
as this was above the dawning sky
A perfect audience at an event not so extraordinary
This sand so moist and willing
A seat for my ass
My head speaking in one-line stories
I sink in to this mystery that I think exists and I think I am attempting
To solve
Water in my boots darken the shadow that already is draped on my shoulder
These cold knees ache only in this contest
I am only a net filled with lost shoes and thrown away wigs
As I float away
I remembered that I left
a black pen in the pants that are in the dryer