Feel Flame

Warmth
blanket me
in

water
something
other than

routine
at least until
things get extreme

ignited
I want to be
set on fire

from the outside
in
I want to feel flame

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Half Moon

I never want
to escape dreams
in which I’m flying

why then do I wake
before I crash

I never want
to wake from dreams
in which I’m dying

why then that I live
to repeat sleep

it’s daytime
sun is shining
the moon is out

a half thumbnail
in the cloudless
blue sky

crow is cawing
skin is burning
skin is crawling

half moon is
a broken thumbnail
chipped from hard day’s wake

Not That Boy

I don’t know who I am

I am not that boy

throwing rocks
breaking eggs
casting stones
breaking glass

I am not that boy

with four eyes
fifth-grade disease
missing class
pissing pants

I don’t know who I am
or I simply forgot
or I never even knew
to begin with

what do I know
I don’t know shit

I forgot the face which
I mirror

I broke it
the mirror

just to see how far
the shards would go

I broke it
the mirror

complicated I am

I cracked it
the mirror

how flawed I am

I am not that boy

I am not that man

Malware

Off-kilter
unbalanced
I feel off-center

maladroit
malcontent
I feel maligned

sleep would be
the only way
to reset my mood

I can’t lie still
my world is spinning
away, out of control

out of sequence
unleashed
I feel out of sync

sardonic
insatiable
unable to say no

a slap in the face
would be a great way
to end this day

I can’t sit still
my head is spinning
away, I can’t hold on

Temperate Lichen

Rising over violent squall
gravel on my windshield
highway near the ocean
rain slows to a drizzle
I sight a sign of hesitation
step into temperate lichen

boardwalk practical
designed to be magical
morphing into staircase
twisting within murmuring creek
without anyone breathe deep
drawing in cedar on the air

waves crashing on remote coast
it’s busy season, visitors near & far
in search of immersion why not go all in
here I am dead between the open ocean
& imagining lonely tidal youthful looks
end of the road on massive wooden dock

tuning forks emit low sound
a shuddering luxury
an excellent vantage point
driftwood thunder washed ashore
with the enthusiasm of black seas rocks
in reflection of graveyard lighthouse

see it firsthand at crack of dawn
seethe & foam mesmerizing moments
sneaky operator clanging buoy in background
aquarium throws parity nudging starfish
spurning relative calm of violent oxygen
clouds hang billowing posing for a landscape

 

“Ate Tapes” by Steve Shultz

Punch Drunk Press

Ate Tapes

Time is a tape deck

we are stuck
on rewind,
fast to skip ahead

cassette,
eaten up inside

pause button stuck,,,
as we try to pick up

our spilled black ribbon entrails

Shultz Steve Shultz currently throws mail for the United States Postal Service. He is a former journalist with The Denver Post and Rocky Mountain News. He is native to Colorado, born and raised, calling the Mile High suburb of Aurora home for most of his life. He is the author of FM Ghost, his first collection of poetry. His work has been featured in various zines and publications both online and in print. Read more of his poetry at here.

Featured Image by Robbie Masso. Find him on Facebook, instagram, and his website.

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Clay

Sculpt me
in something
other than

your preconceived
clay perceptions
watered down

damaged cover
ripped off to be
sold marked down

fuck me
in something other
than resentment

god damn you
for changing your mind
when you broadcast your resolve

sandwiched between
morally acceptable
& socially irreversible

one will find the truth
in excess or
at least in an excuse

find your muse
in a bottle
or in a fuse

mind your q’s
silence your sighs
just don’t do what you please