Maybe yours

Photo by Ankhesenamun on Unsplash

Poetry won’t really save my life, even if I try my best for it to be that way. If some nut is trying to murder me in a dark alley, I’m not gonna recite him some of my best or favorite lines to get by. I’ll probably be fucking dead, or him, he could possibly wind up dead, but it won’t be because of poetry. Maybe my fists or elbows, or a really good triangle choke. I don’t know, but it won’t be poetry for sure. If she tried to kill me in my sleep, then I’m fucked either way…

10 April 2021 Saturday Poetry Prompt: repeatable

Photo by author

“But what do I have to doubt but my own shiny eyes, what to lose but life which is a vision today this afternoon.”

-Allen Ginsberg, Sather Gate Illumination

In this room,
rosemary replaced my mind,
and what is there to do,
but lose what I have left behind
for good.

My glazed eyes
become dull staring at the screen
staring at me. I regress
to an earlier vision I had
of you,

of life,
of memory,
of the variables this afternoon,
all in the smoke beside my chair.
Your chair.
Your memory.

Make me, swallow ghosts in the conference…

07 April 2021 Wednesday Prose Poem: the colour says it all

Photo by Scott Rodgerson on Unsplash

You sit in your chair, and tell me that I am going to die, if it isn’t all that much. The room is maroon, the chair is maroon, the carpet is maroon, your suit is black, your eyes are black, and the temptation is burgundy. I sink into the dials of your soul because I can’t get into mine. The devious plots you performed are in the shelter of someone else’s shower. What color am I? What do you see? I thought maybe yellow, or orange. I used to think black.

The black holes in your eyes signify my place…

Photo by Kyle Johnson on Unsplash

I decided to go shopping in an empty grocery store where the glass covers the floor and stray dogs roam the aisles I was beaten with hunger that a billion lives conquered the wind is hitting heavy and the windows are closed there’s no more bread and butter not even crumb trails where are all the riddles spray painted before the fall? it is raining heavy through the ceiling the dogs begin to bark and I’m humming still the bark turns into a howl and my humming changes as well. I’m out the door before I know it, and my…

03 April 2021 Saturday Poetry Prompt: say that again?

Photo by Alekon pictures on Unsplash

“Desire is wrapped in ransom,
like an addict at the bar rocking
down neat little lies like crap to a dog
giving you fools time is alloy wheels.”

Lennie Varvarides “Ceremony”

The space is broken and far between the remnants of lost pages seen by reapers of love losing touch. I am the unseen, sparking my way through your destiny like a witch to the confused being. Shelter me with twigs and shit, with needles from my neighbor’s drug habit. Love me as much as you hate time, and time the lie, the lie of the wheel in motion on…

31 March 2021 Wednesday Prose Poem: where do the stories end up?

Photo by Davide Pietralunga on Unsplash

“What are you doing?

“I’m writing.”

“You haven’t written anything yet.”

“It’s part of the process.”

“Not writing?”

“No, thinking. It’s writing just the same.”

“So, when you are not writing, you are still writing?”


“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does if you think about it.”

Then you light the burner on and tell me to sing for you while the rain patters somewhere on the roof just not the whole roof. We both like the rain just not when it’s cold. The stories I dwell, the likes of which I had fluttered into the lamp with a…

An Elegy

Photo by Wonderlane on Unsplash

I met you at a time of your life when you might have been doing your best. I met you at your most Light. Brave, caring, limitless, just like your vices.
And turns out, we both had similar vices.
Mountainous discussions, living on the edge of our lives
looking at some of the most beautiful wonders of the world.
Yet, are we humble? Are you?
Are we shrewd
for living out our lives trying to forget dark spells
of disease and addiction and the need
to be something more?

My friend, I often think about you and all…

Jesse M. Gonzalez

Anecdotes of memories. My passion is writing. If you'd like, you can buy me a coffee at

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