Monday, October 5, 2015

Two Poems by Brenton Booth

Running from the Night

the gallows are not always as scary as a lonely sunday morning
or punching a time clock or answering the phone that never seems to stop
it's the same old song for the puppies, eskimos and croupiers--
regularly holding more cards than they can handle or care to have in their possession
and some do it with religion and some with sports and some with
money (i have luckily never been too fond of those things as they
have never been too fond of me),
on this tuesday afternoon in syndey watching the rats scream at the
mountains, the ferrari paddling on a cement pool, the sailor return
to the sea
while the opera singers eat pumpkin soup in the green room and
guns fir in the desert--stepping sideways as usual:  desperately
clinging to out-dated ideas
the brunette with the long hair and beautiful skin smiled at me again
which wouldn't seem like much to some, but it's the closest i have
got to love from a woman in months and the screaming monkeys
all fell down inside my head like the stolen dominoes or tomorrows
these small things that can make such a difference
walking now with new purpose:
finally beating the night.

Behind the Lines

The page takes another line
and the brown walls hide
behind white trees
the balcony holds onto the
the coffee table is on the
the page takes another line
and the speakers float in
large bowls of margarine
the blinds ask for $21 change
the fan has on a concrete
neck brace
the page takes another line
and the warm plate is on
vacation in Bora Bora
the small Asian statue
recites Whitman
the carpet crawls on the
the page takes another line
and the mirror bleeds like
baby seals
the wardrobe holds out its
grey hands
the face is as beautiful as
her face
that won't leave me
will never leave me
the page takes another line
and I wish it were me.

Brenton Booth lives in Sydney, Australia.  Poetry and fiction of his has recently been printed in Chiron Review, Mas Tequila Review, Paper and Ink, Zombie Logic and Bold Monkey.

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