Tag Archives: poetry

Park 2

a man walking his dog

looks at me


the time of his passage

he is a young man, clearly preposterous wrinkles in his brow

when I say, “Hi,”

he passes with no acknowledgement

this place

we rub together on the subway

cricket’s music of sweat and jackets

people on the street are more lonely than where I’m from

we greet each other

with no bubbles to pop

there is no chance meeting in cars

we stay further apart in a room

but this is not your private space


The Park 1

A woman’s face in a pile of leaves

a symbolic cut stump

I think of axes and men singing

not goggles


chainsaw buzz

I think of sailing and I am holding ropes

freezing, wet with salt, I combat nature with my bare body

not being coddled/enclosed by machines

machines have destroyed our best culture

a pigeon lands

on top of another

summer is coming


i found myself in the state

that adulthood cries to recapture

young and dumb and confident

that perfect punk i thought i was

when i was seventeen

and everything in the world

belonged to me

(or nothing).

[make no mistake, this is about making yourself / after being sick all week…maybe it was the cold medicine…our office oddly crowded with bodies all day…then they left, and i turned to put music on…later it struck me, that’s when that feeling began. perfectly summed up by the universe, later…at the shopping center bathroom, I turned to leave the stall…and there on the floor, a perfect magic safety pin…the exact size I used to pin through my shirt…right above my nipple…when I was that perfect punk, unawares]

Subletting: A List

My kitchen is someone else’s.

My bed is someone else’s.

My clothes rack is someone else’s.

I cannot cook because of you

There is a hole in my wall to the outside, where it’s 1 degree Fahrenheit, that I cannot plug.

There is a funny smell in this room of someone else’s belongings that I cannot place.

I want to rent a room.

I want to rent a room in Japan.

I want to buy a house.

More poetry

It’s just flowing out of me, these days. Let’s see here:

i sit all day in this apartment we used to share

shitting, hurting myself

wondering when my

goddamn boxes will finally fill

the side of the closet that was yours

so i ran into

or rather, noticed across the street

the same old man yelling at the same tree.

he has his fans, the old man

clothes falling off him

he attracts them like flies

things too well put together

ready to fall apart out of their tight little boxes

everyone feels the pull to comment; they all want to own him in some way

i want to own him in some way, his wrinkles

neither of these poems have anything directly to do with anything happening in my life right now; or maybe they have *everything* to do

©2007 joseph walter lindsey

Two more poems

My face reflects the hopes and dreams of my ancestors

so I dye my hair and shave it funny

and wear the same clothes until

I have to fix them with safety pins

my face still reflects the hopes and dreams of my ancestors.

I ran into a man on the street

with one lens taped to his face

over his eye

I assume his frames

had broken

(as always, everything © 2007 Joseph Walter Lindsey)

Two poems (to be read with tongue firmly in cheek)

I look at the map
on our shower curtain
and think of all the places
I’ll never have been
If I drown in the tub

Instead of looking for a job
I read a book of poetry
and cried.

then I hunted another rat
for dinner.

(both of the above poems are © 2007 Joseph Walter Lindsey)