Mat Gould

2012/06/24 § Leave a comment

On the themes of leftovers, the last word and cigarettes

no moment of truth is without its deluge

the sun
finally
broke through the tar in the sky
by
the middle of the afternoon
it
has
been
so
long
since we have seen anything other
than
the palest of light
-I heard
the shadows call out your name-
I am
walking
across
the court-yard
watching
people
encouraged by such a day
steadying their aim
and
setting
their
fires
deeper into the whim-

the constant revolution

we
tend
to say everyday
as
a
way
to describe
these beaten paths
on
these worn out maps
for
the way
a life elapsing
looks back
with
nothing else to ask
this happens
here
we
see it passing everyday on
easily mistaken
for
another
sacred instance
not
so
far
gone
a breath may conjure its resistance

the brave departed and the broken hearted
(the failure of a Lucky Strike)

on the fire-escape
off
from the balcony
used
to
be
lovers
are quarrelling
in
a
fluff
of
air duct steam
they
were
still
dreaming
but
the season had changed
the harsh
now
jes cold and rain that dampens the cigarettes
the same brand she found some other girls lipstick
burnt
into the filter on
the same brand she found in his pocket
of the same jeans he wears everyday
except that one day last week
the night after the party
when he came home late
(it was more like the next morning when he made his pre-dawn
entrance through the window off from the balcony)
and the same once he has carried around
ever since
he knew this was going to happen
which is why he made sure the apartment had a fire escape-

Author Biography

Mat Gould  lives western North Carolina. He recently published his fourth chap from Dog On A Chain Press.

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