Poetry collection – by James Diaz

The Lost Poem
I thought this doesn’t last long,
learning curve,
rock bottom, but it does.
All my thoughts
are shattered
here
and I can barely
stand
it
breathing
moving a cup off the edge
of the table
how slit
body and winter
under poorly nailed down
floor boards
comes rushing in,
was I there with you?
am I happy
in your version?
god only knows
nothing at all
I can’t get in my life
one leg at a time
anymore
I’m —
what was it I meant to…
I can’t remember
the weight
this destination
takes
on its fatal flight north,
the shaking for the sake of…
on the floor
with my hands
grabbing at nothing
only fading
only…
falling

Terror, Above and Below
Imagine you are on your knees
and the floor feels like air
and scars open hungry mouths
and you are late for just about everything
imagine no one ever told you what love was really about
and you accepted whoever
and whatever
and the night sweats got worse
imagine you never saw a war
but somehow became one
imagine a room full of people
and you’ve never felt so alone
imagine coming down
and you don’t know what from
imagine this isn’t the life you wanted
and you are getting older
and it’s not likely you’ll be
how you thought you’d be long ago
imagine saying all this
to someone who might really listen,
understand.

The Secret Is In The Morning Light

My tongue is tied

vision of you
blurred
no Johanna
no holy water down below
the paper says my world
belongs to some else
says I’ll never get back
to the place I came from
when were we ever the best thing
to happen to ourselves?
Is this what dying looks like,
too much and not enough
in the same breath?
storms raging as if they are inside my body
flooding insides
wrong turns duplicating
drivers side- soul side
the fire is in the house
the caller is in the head
we can’t go home again
 
can’t burrow down deep enough
to find that kind of light
 
 


 

Picture Frames From Another Life

Days wearing me thin
the needle clinging to its groove
half a year spent fetal
and wanting
to cry out
this isn’t who I meant to be  
a life laid out
like leaves on wet pavement
stuck to the unseen
and rubble lingering
underneath
like light hidden
meant for someone else
never weaponize your heart
you once said to me
but I was too late
to that party
already on my way
towards whatever was left
empty houses
no phone calls
reminders of what once was
of all that goes by so quickly
and unadorned.

***

jamesdiaz
JAMES DIAZ is the founding editor of the literary arts & music journal Anti-Heroin Chic. His work has appeared most recently in HIV Here & NowFoliate OakChronogram, and Apricity. His first book of poems, This Someone I Call Stranger, is forthcoming from Indolent Books (2017.)
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One Comment Add yours

  1. ejhoran says:

    Gorgeous and forlorn. Lonely but with threads of togetherness​.

    Like

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