High on the Mystery

—Poetry by Kevin M. Hibshman, Lancaster, PA
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA

WHO WERE YOU?

To come to me, like a box of chocolates under melting light?
Everything you said and did was right.
I threw away my days to see you each night.

Gifts you gave I could not refuse.
What were you to have more than I could ever use?
So enthusiastic, I had to choose to surrender.

You were a winding road, a heavy load.
I put my foot to the pedal.
You liked to move fast.

My friends tried to warn me.
They said you were no good.
What did you want except for my soul?
The most thrilling rides never last.
They were only waiting to say “I told you so.”

Who were you to come on so mean,
To look so clean and unprepared,
To rose-tint my vision until I went blind?

With all of your digging, what did you hope to find?
You were like a machine.
You kept me breathing when I needed to die.

Who were you and why did we meet,
So clandestine and yet so sweet?
Who were you to sew up all of my splitting seams?
Who were you to come along and to fuck with my dreams?

NO RELIEF

All through the night,
The city's mechanized breathing.
A robotic pulse beating as
Strangers are weaving their twisted ways home.

All through the night when I should be sleeping.
Counting down the minutes so hot and so fleeting.
The clock displays time that isn't worth keeping.
I have no prayers but a plea for relief.

If only I could break it between my teeth.
A promise denied and a stomach left empty.
I don't want to eat and I don't want to dream.

Perhaps I should try some of that stuff that you sent me?

MY NEW NORMAL

I got pills for anxiety but they don't let me sleep.
My habits have grown expensive.
They used to seem so cheap.
I got a few numbers I know better not to call.
I don't walk much anymore.
I just fall and fall and fall.

 Squaresville, Man!

CRISIS MANAGEMENT

Possessing an active imagination is a conspicuous gift.
When my mind goes into hyper-drive, it can backfire on me.
It seems to have a will of its own and I frequently find it conspiring against me like an untended child.
I must try to remind myself just who is in control here.
Its insatiable whims enjoy taking me on unscheduled flights across dangerous waters and threatening skies.
I often plead, “Could you just tone it down a bit, I need to sleep?”
It's like the feeling after you've spent the day at an amusement park and now you can't stop spinning.
I try to breathe as slowly as I can while telling myself: “It's alright, the water doesn't have sharp edges,
the plane is not on fire and you won't fall out of an imaginary sky.”

ANXIETY


The pills do help, I suppose, when I stop waiting for them to take effect.
I ask myself “What do you have to be anxious about?”
The question only serves to sharpen the various symptoms.
I am at the junction, thinking of Robert Johnson, waiting to make that pact with the devil or any stray entity who might offer assistance.
I go outside to stand on the stone steps.
I am drawing upon a cigarette with what feels like my last breath when suddenly, the little old lady two doors down calls to me and waves.
The sweet aftertaste of the moment seems to linger.

THE DURATION


Fighting the urge to throttle any bottle I can get my hands on.
Smoking again.
My mother just gifted me with a carton.
It felt like smuggling in contraband from some foreign port.
All bets are off for the duration.

Old habits die harder during a pandemic.
I need whatever distraction comes my way.
Don't know how long I'll be waiting.
Previously, when I thought I was losing my mind,

It was because I wanted to.

HEY FRIEND

When this is over, you know where to find me.
You move through my thoughts like a homesick ghost.
We will keep on dreaming big and losing poorly.
We will remain tearful but high on the mystery.
It's hard for us to sleep when so many will not awaken.
Keep believing in the impossible.

I will cling to the absurd.

___________________


Today’s LittleNip:

ORGIASTIC FRIEND
—Kevin M. Hibshman

You do it all up at once.
Never one to savor the flavor.
Your eyes are glazed and shine demonic.

Have you ever thought of saving something for later?

___________________


Good morning, and welcome to Kevin M. Hibshman, who has had poems, reviews and collages published in many journals and magazines world wide, most recently in Rye Whiskey Review, Drinkers Only, The Crossroads and 1870.

In addition, he has edited his poetry zine, Fearless, since 1990 and is the author of sixteen chapbooks, including Love Sex Death Dreams (Green Bean Press, 2000), Incessant Shining (Alternating Current, 2011), and Slice Of Life (Alternating Current, 2014). He has been a potter's assistant, a vocalist in a rock band, a prep-cook and most recently, a barista at a health foods store. He was initially inspired by rock poets such as Patti Smith and Lou Reed before discovering Beat Poets William Burroughs, Diane di Prima, Amiri Baraka, Allen Ginsberg and Anne Waldman. He has also studied world religions and homeopathic healing and has a budding interest in Shamanism and film-making.

Kevin received a BA in Liberal Arts from Union Institute and University/Vermont College in 2016. He was born in Philadelphia and resides in Pennsylvania with his partner, William, a painter, and three cats. Future projects include a surrealist novel and manuscripts for more poetry chapbooks.

Welcome to the Kitchen, Kevin, and don’t be a stranger!

In our area, don’t forget tonight’s Zoom workshop from Sac Poetry Center: Poetics of Inspiration: From the Streets to the Edges of Clouds, led by Bonnie Wai-Lee Kwong, as part of SPC's Literary Lecture Series hosted by Frank Dixon Graham. Register (required) in advance at us02web.zoom.us/meeting/register/tZYldOCrrTIsGd3zdcXdxMayV4fVqsEXFc8Y/. After registering, you will receive a confirmation email containing information about joining the meeting. Info: www.facebook.com/events/305269893875310/.

__________________

—Medusa, believing in the impossible at least a half-hour each day ~

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