Running Dry Half Way
sometimes
you just don’t
have much left
to give away
just enough energy
to eat
and remember
tomorrow
is coming
sometimes
you just don’t
have much left
to give away
just enough energy
to eat
and remember
tomorrow
is coming
Deep into the future
One Rachel Jerielle Hanlon
must have time traveled
back to 1980
Three years before her birth
there publishing some wisdom
under the pseudonym R.J. Hanlon,
“Never attribute to malice that
which is adequately explained by stupidity”
She must have done it in some attempt
at saving enough extra time and energy
to create and nurture hundreds of extra projects
that would do untold good in the world.
Unfortunately, her past self was still forgetful
and often left the razor
in the drawer.
And there is still
a family
Not here
but there was
once
I miss the
lemonade and
overeasy eggs
but I did
the squeezing
and the frying
I would do it again
if there were
people to do it
for
even when
I made
all my
own
The sound of a gunshot
Rips across my screen
He writes with one shot
His worries will cease soon he’ll be free
It feels like a cry for help a desperate plea
A veiled message that he
Is a man deeply struggling
Fingers flying across the keyboard
Comments flood his post
Bruh, are you ok
Please don’t do this to your family
Text 988
I’ve been through this too
Call me if you need me
Man, I’m praying for you
He deletes the post makes a new status update
Just quoting the lyrics of a song
Sorry for making you think
Something is wrong
I type the lyrics in the search bar
Hit the play button dark video fills my screen
Heart beats as fast as the frantic tempo
Of the rap song blaring from my speakers
Mind playing tricks on me
I can’t watch the end of the video hurriedly close its tab
Because my mind is telling me
Man, this bruh is not well
A (monstrous?) being
What is it? (or who are they?)
The way it writhes and slithers,
but are those legs?
Sharp claws on display
tips of fingers, daggers,
trembling, reaching out,
are those human hands?
Rat’s nest of hair covering
(glowing?) eyes and (pointed?) ears.
Mouth agape, bared razorblade teeth
but no dragon’s fire or drake’s acidic spit,
just a mournful scream, does it (they) feel agony?
Tears fall down their rigid scales?
It’s on their knees, terrorizing, begging?
Wanting to live or asking to die?
Oh, what a terrible existence,
That is not in question.
read about this whippoorwill
(yes, I don’t use hyphens)
that spent 166 days on the border
of Guatemala before
winging his way back home
(presumably to my holler
or near enough)
and I think, did he know
those weren’t his stars
or did he not care because
you can’t find home on a map
just somebody else’s border
The sun is a star-
let hiding her face behind
a summer green fan.
Woe to paparazzi who
believe she can be consolidated
to a three by five screen.
I ditch the phone,
behold gold
full-bodied, blazing.
It’s only temporary, I know
Still, it’s so hard to watch
you drive away from me and go
You wanted to bring your car
so you’ve got a straight shot north
I guess it’s really not that far
With all our closeness I forgot
what it was like to miss you
to turn and reach where you’re not
You ask me all the time why
I never write anything flowing
with rhythm or with rhyme
So this one’s for you
since I cannot go too
I’ll see you on the other side of June
So many things to be
A wave in the ocean
A grain of sand on the beach
A blade of grass, dancing in the wind
So many things to be
A soft feather of a blue bird,
perhaps
The fur on a black cats back
So many things to be
other than me
