Weekly Poem
ISSN 2291-7942
Vol. 1, No. 4, November 3, 2013
Edited by Kirk Ramdath

by Calgary’s Xam Eitsirhc

The boss man’s scowling ‘cuz I’m late. He wants me kowtowing to a job I hate.
Working the salt mines, rat race, and a slave to the grind. Feeling outta
place, no room to create.

The trails left by dusty drywall tappers. White gypsum encasing their clothes
and trapping their melanin and ears wrought with a plug of plaster, everything
must be turned louder, a veneer of powder over their eyes so thick the world’
s a blur. At least it’ll kill you quick, and send you to meet that maker, but is
death the only cure?!

With body broken and no sleep, too much chain smoking, no food and a
vacant seat. An empty jar and a hungry and howling dog, but I can’t help or
go too far through this metro with no petrol left in the car.

Blindness and asbestos, a lack of faith in the Christos! He came to me and
said, “Do not fret, time marches on and this too shall pass, it will not last, and
with time you will forget. Whatever lives must also die! So look to those
translucent skies with your textured and muddied eyes.

“You are so close, but still so far! Like the pesky whiskey jack in a backwoods
canyon, stealing food from your hands as you feel the bite of their beaks and
the sting of the wind from their wings. Coming so near, but always in flight...
never standing or even landing ...they are above descending.

“Enlightenment is just another way to be stuck, as you drown in your own
neurons, floating atop the primordial muck. When you hit the ground,
remember to roll and tuck.”

Xam-an eclectic enigmatic anomaly who has been writing poetry & short
stories for twenty some years, admittedly with idle gaps where survival was
the primary goal. He is at home enjoying a good game of chess as well as
malingering in a shooting gallery.
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