Tradition’s Senses

I miss the smell of barbecue
though not enough
to taste the flesh of lesser creatures
but hey—I don’t judge
to each his own

tradition’s senses
hard to break


© Copyright Steve Shultz. All rights reserved.


I, a literary subplot
from your feature film adaptation

flashlight walks the aisle for disappointed fans

unknown scratches
thunder with unkempt nails

it’s dark in here, can’t see my soul

choose a weapon
in this
galleria of broken glass bottles

don’t bring forked tongue to good ol’ fashioned knife fight

throwing stones
shattered two-way mirror

brick-walled, pursuing rumors with a periscope

a transcendental
to your toothpick tower

picking up clean
it all


© Copyright Steve Shultz. All rights reserved.

Cereal Aisle

I was there
when Hope was a slogan
everybody believed in
DNC, Denver, 2008
a lot’s changed in four years
another election
“four more years”

never got to see
the President in person
but I did go
to the press party
free food, free beer
free carnival games
the energy was raw
saw The Flobots
rally the crowd

I was working for the
Rocky Mountain News
RIP, the last time
I had fun
working for a newspaper
people once read

a lot’s changed in four years
another bloody election
“four more years”

attack ads
attacking the past
while the future’s a dust cloud
waiting for precursor

“This generation may be the one
that will face Armageddon.”

Reagan said that
yet here we are still
teetering the brink

I’m in the liquor store
trying to decide if I want
whiskey, rum or wine or beer
what kind? well, how much am
I willing to spend
and here we are pitting
donkeys vs. elephants

it’s time to pick another
animal off the ark
before the flood comes
and washes our bones dry

while here we are, minds blown on cereal aisle

© Copyright Steve Shultz. All rights reserved.


scab on heart
temple door
boarded, ignored
in love, in awe of
but skirt around
the source
sores on mouth
too much speaking ill
omens go out of way
to say ‘you are not alone’

© Copyright Steve Shultz. All rights reserved.