A Trio Of Poems

Revisioning

I just passed a holy man
who had apparently
come from a faraway land
to Delmar
and he was wearing a long tan linen robe
and when he got close to me
he gave me a very casual
two-finger salute, as if to say
We’re in this crazy world together, my friend,
and game always respects game.

My sad thing is that I’m prone
to not put what I consider
disorder
into the universe. As I come from
sheer shrieking chaos.
I was telling Diana on the elevator
how I bought a black shoe lace
to replace the torn leather string
on my tobacco pouch, but when I got to
my room I found that
the lace was actually brown. So now
I’m looking all over for Diana
so I can tell her the truth.
I wouldn’t tell anyone else how to love.

Desperate Claim

I’ve been doing something
as of late
that is completely unbalanced.

Every afternoon I get another coffee at Starbucks
and take my Judith Butler and my blank
3X5 and pen around the corner
to my little spot next to the apartments
where all the students live
and I do a bit of reading and writing.

But for the last week or so
there’s been a construction crew there
hammering and sawing and fitting
so I’ve had to move my body
and my various
possessions
accordingly. Today they came right out
and asked me to displace. I don’t really know
why I’ve kept coming back.
Perhaps I’m saying—to you—to them—to the
world—this here’s work as well.

Belly

I was sitting outside Starbucks
in the dark morning
rolling cigarettes
when my neighbor Rob came over
and gave me a huge cup
of ice water I couldn’t pass.
To defend myself
against such demonics I had to say,
“Yes. I read online
that my frequent stomachaches
could be the result of dehydration.”
So I got that in. I made things right.

But later in the day I’m so dumb
I started thinking
on how that might’ve been
a great big blessing. And why,
you shouldn’t always assume
disaster. But I guess that’s my own
private dialectic. From discord to harmony.
From tatters and fragments
unto representation.

For so long
I did so many things
I didn’t want to do.
How to measure a human being:
you ask yourself
if you’ve gone up against
the void, against nothingness,
and ripped out something beautiful
from the guts of chaos.

Matthew Freeman’s seventh book, I Think I’d Rather Roar, was published by Cerasus Poetry. Others can be found with Coffeetown Press. He holds an MFA from the University of Missouri-St Louis and writes about his recovery from schizophrenia and his time at Parkview Place. He likes to engage with class, language, and power. Matt also runs a reading series with his friend Myrtie. It’s called Re: Born and takes place every third Tuesday at the Fortune Teller Bar on Cherokee. And it includes an open mic!