Tag: prose poetry

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Midwest Winter Grievances:

Ice and pavement mix together below my toes,

encased in old boots as I avoid the slick sleet, bro.

shuffling my BIG SHOES slow; that’s the way it goes when it’s Farenheit 32 or below,

and there’s only one frozen path, the only way to go.

All the flowers, birds, beautiful butterflies- THEY’RE ALL DEAD.

Only us humans and other annoying lil’ ICE DEMONS still reside right around us as questionable-ass rabbits

gaze at my apartment building, and scurry right past’it.

Ain’t much positive, winter is the fucks,

got kids digging out the car for like, 10 bucks,

all the animals outside look mad suss

and trying to hibernate on the weekends is tough.

Me and winter go together like bacon and cement,

the winter is a squatter in my life that pays no rent,

But, after 90 days (hopefully) it’s a wrap

Call the cops on the winter, watch them throw him in the back, damn;

Understand, me and Invierno have our moments

But he’s just a bitter old man, and his age is really showing.

The holidays are great, as well as my birthdate,

But apart from that, the winter is an icy ball of hate. – RSM

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The Astral Movie House

What if right after your death you find yourself alone, in a one-seat movie theatre, where you arise as if abruptly woken up from a dream.

Your ideal self-image from your life’s memories is manifested, and you look and feel, by your own opinion, as the best you ever have.

An 70mm film projector flickers, and begins rolling a film onto a realistic-as-life screen directly in front of you. A classic black and gray circular countdown starts backwards from 10, in the clearest picture you’ve ever seen, anywhere.

The film begins. Your earliest memory in life plays out as the first scene. You are taken aback. Your emotions criss-cross and crash, and finally, you understand: ‘heaven,’ ‘hell,’ and ‘purgatory’ will all be experienced here, in this single-seat movie house. You’re free to get up and leave at anytime, but the thought never occurs to you.

It all comes back, a full recap of your now-past life. The best moments invoke laughter, tears of joy, leaving you feeling like a rejuvenated soul; while the worst ones trigger despair, regret, and unkempt anger, mostly directed at your past self. But not fear. Fear is for the living.

The movie ends, and as the credits roll, every name of all your loved ones, friends, family, co-workers, people you met just once, all scroll along. You are credited as the lead role, and the director.

There you are, alone in your own private astral cinema – lessons learned, emotions drained, and at peace with your past life – a catharsis unmatched.

There’s a red EXIT sign to the right. A force within you questions where it leads, and beckons you toward it.

You rise from your chair, and walk toward the EXIT sign. It leads you around a corner to a long, maroon-carpeted hallway ending with a single door. It’s an industrial dark gray, with a few scratches, and a worn black and gold PUSH sticker on it. You stop at the threshold, take a deep breath, push it open, and walk through.

You new first memory starts. – RSM

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