screenplay

[saw]

didn't know peace could be tangible
but I feel it up this evening like a hot hand along a lacy garter belt,
mundane has gone to bed, left me a full ballpoint
to pry open the cracks in the plastered walls

it's a labor of love planning a jailbreak
the patient chipping away of solid rock
with an old fork in the road squandered
for foolishness, but I scrape away the masonry

one poem at a time, it takes the patience
of a killer cat peering into a pitch black mouse hole
minute after minute, night after night, hoping
this time there will be a profound payoff

the gushing vomit of an abandoned slot machine,
that persistence....... in the gym of my recovery
muscles are stainless steel, shiny and buff sinew
able, to leash the foaming mongrels with bad breath

that bark like wounded carneys beneath my bedroom window,
they understand that sooner or later I will need to leave
my self imposed captivity, open the rubberized door for air, so
I write them out of the script....the screenplay is finished

[mnaz]

I'm not sure exactly why, but your poem reminded me of that long road trip in the desert I took in late 2001 (lately, for some reason, I think a lot about that trip). I dwelled in a world filled with cracked plaster and barking heads on a screen amid wide-open vista. And yes, the vomit (and delirium) of (literal) slot machines. I stumbled onto that jailbreak. It was a strange time between times . . .

"bark like wounded carneys" . . . Pretty much.

[WIREMAN]

cats and vomit gushing slot machines sounds like chesapeake beach in the early 60's......love the construction of this piece steve:)

[saw]

mnaz and mark...thanx for the feedback...enjoyed your responses...much appreciated

this poem kind of wrote itself, if you know what i mean...and I've known you two long enough to know...you do