An Introspective | Josh Hatcher
i (train tracks)
Standing ankle deep
muddy boots,
by empty silent train tracks
underneath a dogwood,
blossoms like white cigar-smoke rings.
(Don’t worry: the lilies have clothes
and the birds have food.)
ii (bald spot)
Lying knee high
brown-grassy curtain,
atop my mountain perch,
Sun, behind his orange veil
perched on his own mountain,
underneath a yawny blue sky,
cloud trails like dying white cigar-smoke rings.
(Conscience is quiet behind gratification.)
iii (inside)
Crouching beside
crimson tinted heart,
inside my rib-caged chest.
Lungs filling thick with air,
slowly deflating flat,
stomach pumping full of bile.
long winded exhale blows white cigar-smoke rings.
(Sometimes one must test to make sure he is not what he hates.)
