Ohio

Over there in California-

Energy’s not cheap.

I can’t imagine what it’ll cost

For a shower and a shave.

But we lost another one here;

One of the mad ones-

She was                              ----decorated

                                  ----ceremonial

----with a s m a l l tattoo

The size

Of a pencil

                                          ----on her face

But beyond pencil

It couldn’t be hidden away

Placed in pocket

Or left on

Desk.

-She took it with her           ----everywhere.

I guess I should’ve been awake

When last note sung

When last line wrote

Last pill

E         x           p             l            o          d             I            n           g

In to

Long night dopamine

And dead-eyed tomorrow

-where was I?

-off?

And pre-occupied with what

In such great presence?

When I’m quick-timing

One of those

Short-shaves

In California,

I know

I’ll see that mark on my own face.

I know

That in razorblade

And brambles

And wild grapes

I won’t forget

-the rosebuds-

And what we couldn’t hide in Ohio:

Another mad one, taken

By the river.

Photo by Anonymous. Words by Justin David Koontz.

the buddha smell

 

The universe does:
But the flowers the dog has brought to me
Slack and dangling
In snout.

The flowers never had to pay a mortgage

The flowers have never played Hamlet to a full audience yawn

The flowers have never snorted boy in the hopes of a lighter tomorrow;
But we’ll stop to smell them anyway.

Maybe the flowers are old reincarnated buddhas
In the face of the sunshine.

Buddha eating Buddha playing Buddha snorting Buddha,
The universe does
Anyway.
b

Photo by Angela Shields. Words by Justin David Koontz. 

Changing Room

  

I’m changing rooms/again
One: cigarette smoke and stale sweat
Of last week
And last night

Now: upright- the grand ballroom of this place
Rent due,
Stove lit,
Aired out.

I’ll change rooms three more times before it’s wrote
Ink
And pen
And wall
And steps.

Hand-scratched in short stab letters
Projected on balcony-tops,
Tree tops,
Read
Left.

I’ll  take three more sips
-Inhale again.

Tell the landlord
Tell the jury
Tell them they strike the same match with me,
Tell them I’m working it out.

I’m changing rooms
To the steps outside
-with stove
And with tree
And with pen.

The borders in here are god-awful to the spirit.

 

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Justin David Koontz.

Gypsy Potpourri

----------------

AS a matter of fact-

The car’s collision occurred around ten am, this placed me post-breakfast and thinking myself in circles near Third and Vine.

This placed me in the eye of the hurricane.

Two deaths, simultaneous;

Hopefully it didn’t take these two mangled strangers

Cemented to the metal

-And the glass

Their deaths to realize their lives

[often times this seems to be the case].

At least the Egyptians always placed that sack-old brain in the most

Ceremonial of jars.

[what a buzzkill reality]

I took another sip of Luke-warm coffee.

Scribble,

 scribble,

 scribble.

I wondered if the bodies knew that I was  writing about them

[I hope they’re weren’t self-conscious].

it’s just-

The protagonist and antagonist were the same.

-the ists.

The families arrived in a gleaming blue lexus, the color of a violinist’s sunny day.

The bodies (butterfly)

The families (hurricane)

A slew of human emotion.

Don’t get me wrong-

It’s not that I didn’t feel bad,

It’s that I just knew:

That ticket would be punched eventually.

I’m still quite certain

-After heating the coffee

-After filing the report

All lifeless parties involved would have certainly

Stepped aside

Reconsidered

Existence.

It’s inevitable.

[or we bought all of that life insurance for nothing].

Photo by Randy Conner. Words by Justin David Koontz.

Smoke Rolls,

I know that.

I see from the left and the right and the center

Where it climbs over everything that can’t be had

By hands

Or by fingertips

Or

L o n g

Forgotten signals

Of the calling machine;

Underneath the seat

-Where my brain sits.

                               These things happen

Smoke: the unaccounted for

And uncontrolled

In the Universe.

They appear left and right and center

-If they are seen like they’d like to be.

But the smoke’s indifference puts to rest

Every iron

Of astute assumption

In the vein of knowing.

Bent around my hands and still ascending

a-w-a-y

from where my breath and my eyes and my words go.

I don’t take it personally.

Through windows

You can hear the scientists gathered

-They are manic

Tossed hands raised up

And palms to the sky

They are reciting old prayers and incantations.

They are guessing.

They told me there are 53BILLIONPLANETSINTHEGALAXY

They told me not to take life so personally,

They told me to smoke-

Because the Universe needs more carbon

And the typewriter is out of ribbon,

And the ribbon is out of ink.

Don’t take it personally. 

Photo by Randy Conner. Words by Justin David Koontz.