laughing on the cross

another empty bottle
for the pile in the corner

happiness is a language
i never learned how to
speak

and society has no place
for those of us who refuse
to be fake or play along
with rules we don’t like

if i drink enough, i see
jesus laughing on the
cross

a beautiful woman stuffs
her panties in my mouth
and i go to bed with
something resembling
a better tomorrow

i’ll wake up alone

by choice

another lie i have come
to grips with

i took their advice and
tried to create my own
luck

but that’s like sending a
monk into a crack house
and wishing him the best
without giving him a few
pointers on how to make
it out alive

Rancor Romance

an encrusted blank expression
envelops her face
as she admits
to not loving you anymore

the nights of yelling
of cursing
of disrespect
of hatefulness
from both parties involved
spitting verbal venom
takes its toll

fueled by alcohol
regret and selfishness

feelings of a life squandered
decisions of comfortability
under the guise of love

acrimony supersedes thoughtfulness
bitterness abounds
animosity released
complete antagonism achieved
a loathing unleashed
resentment acknowledged
and acted upon

a wash of relief
overtakes you both

The Last Summer Sun

there will be farewells and goodbyes
words of reassurance
eyes full of tears
but not now

there will be the smell of train brakes
at some provincial railway station
rivers swollen with fall rain
but not now

there will be our last hug
the sun fleeing to the west
shining on all windows
but not now

now there are fingers intertwined
hot and lustful kisses
your breasts still full of summer
and the slow dance of your womb

now there is your skin
now there is your hair
now your eyes surround me
in the warmth of their embrace

autumn will come
with his cap of dead leaves
and the chill of the new season
but not now

now we are here
naked and on fire
burning in the flames
of the last summer sun

Bear Food

I went to the mountains
the bears didn’t eat me
the snowfall didn’t bury me
there was no plane crash
I made it back
but she wasn’t here anymore
and whenever I think about
getting eaten by a bear
which is often
now I can only picture
Leonardo DiCaprio in my place
because of that film he did
and bear food is no longer
an authentic death for me
so I’ll live.
It was the only death
I wanted.

Her First Time

I pushed it in.
Her first time.
It changed her life
she wanted more
than I could give.
She begged and begged,
I gave in,
repetitive pushes
inside of her.
Blood rushes to the head.
Chemical disbalance.
Endorphines.
Feeling of power
laying lifeless on her bed.
God came home
when I pushed
the insects in her veins.
Those jittery fuckers
that will never leave.

Strange Visit

Lost somewhere in that limbo
place where dreaming meets
a total drunk, the two fusing into
one, overlapping the way loose skin
does on top of what lies beneath.
She comes, then, as half-human,
half-apparition in that hour before
dawn in the bar, lights down,
only the EXIT signs clear and well
defined. Certainly not the place
where her eyes should be
in the tarnished back bar mirror.
Nothing but shadows
and dust and flakes where her face
should be, where vision has lost clarity,
nothing as it should be and what moves,
does so fast and almost formless
just below the horizon
on the edge of sight,
beckoning as it does so,
for all to follow
to that place
where she is going,
where all dreams end.

Talented People And Those Who Prefer Paradise

I knew a young man once
we passed a lot of time
in the same room
together

we lived together
but nothing sexual
we both ate pussies
like they were bread

I knew a young man once
I said
and he was just
the best writer
that I’d ever read

young
cruel
true

a writer with balls
or at least he had balls
when he wrote
in real life
he was more
like a broom

I’m sure he will succeed
in writing I mean
and I hope
he will do it

writing stuff on social media
putting your fucking face
in front of a camera
at 5 a.m.
while you’re dying inside
and the whole world
out there is a mess
is what I call
talent

he was able to spend
the whole night
joining parties
here and there
he was a social beast
while I’m just a bear
that prefers to have sex
and get drunk alone
instead of listening
to stupid speeches

I always preferred to die
in my own paradise
made of naked boobs
alcohol
silence
and the moonlight
shining on my
naked balls

I don’t have any
kind of talent
to be sincere
but I’m safe and sound
and that is enough
for me

John D Robinson
Alien Budha Press
105 pages

John D Robinson, author of ‘Pushing Away the Hours’ presents his second poetry book with Alien Buddha Press, ‘A Hash Smoking, Codeine Swallowing, Wine Drinking, Son of a Bitch’.

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