“Maddened by Detail”, “Blue is the Night”, and “The Coffee’s Getting Cold”
By Adam Middleton-Watts
Maddened by Detail
there is a solitary moment here
nothing too complex
the sky split by a single bird
white clouds shaped as a ladder
death spread upon the street
under the guise of orange fur
(squirrels still have so much to learn)
the window of a house
not more than a hundred feet away
glinting like an eye
soured by too much light
the heat in here
stirring like the breath
of famished cats
voices are around
inflected faintly
but ears are somewhat distant
to the parade of solitary quiet
this little that seems to go on
happening
regardless
is more than enough
for now
Blue is the Night
the music rolls like summer heat
the itchy strings
and thickened laidback words
someone there is smiling
and keeping rhythm along
the hard edge of a faded drum
you can actually hear that smile
along with the shuffling of
worn out shoes tied
with laces thin as smoke
and the dry snap of old fingers
holding a beat that belongs
somewhere in a well known place
where flesh is pressing flesh
and the joy there found
skillfully vocalized
there is resplendence
in the brilliant curve of a
firm warm hip and a delicate
curl of sweet smelling hair
that perfect dig of fingernail
the naming of a single name
carrying more worth
than twenty years of wonder
The Coffee’s Getting Cold
somehow I’m inclined to address the trivial
coffee cooling in the base of a cup
horns on the radio
a life that seems to have unraveled
much like the weatherworn sail
of a long abandoned vessel
where the crew
left land clueless
and ill-prepared
not caring for supplies
or a determined destination
the coffee cools further
and I lack the ability to contract
a single muscle
there shall be no motion for a while
nothing more than thought
and the cave of lungs
expanding
far better poems
have been found
adrift
unmanned
silent on the
sea
Adam Middleton-Watts is an oddball British expat writing from the flatlands of South Dakota. When he’s not dissolving in the midst of a savage summer or fattening up for the next brutal winter, he’s writing poems and stories on the backs of unpaid utility bills and drinking too much dark ale. He has had words printed in many a magazine, and can tell a bison from a handsaw.
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