Like It's Your Last

Treighton Mauldin

LIFE NOT YET KNOWN

We’ve not met 

But I know 

I love you

I can feel your head 

Nestled against 

My chest

I can smell you 

I lose myself 

In it

I can see your face 

Your dark eyes 

The family nose 

Your Mother's smile

But when you laugh 

I know you 

Because it's mine

 __________________

 

OF FRIENDS AND LOVERS

Nothing lasts in this world 

And it’s a damn good thing 

Since I manage to fuck up 

Every meaningless thing I try not to do

Even the good things, 

And trust me 

There aren’t many, 

I manage to spill, or break, 

Or irreparably disassemble

Just ask my friends 

And they will tell you 

How I’m not around 

Just ask my lovers

And they will tell you 

How I’m quick on the draw 

Just ask my family 

Actually if you see them

Just say hello for me

But make sure not to ask 

Ones who are not too close 

Because they will tell you 

I am kind, and passionate, and talented 

And we can’t have that

It’s a damn good thing 

That nothing lasts 

So that all these friends and lovers 

Don’t have to live 

With what I’ve done

______________________

LAUGHING AT THE PAST

I remember sitting with my mother, I was sixteen 

and I thought that freedom was close enough to taste, 

It was just after the sun had risen, before I went to work 

I was drinking coffee; she was drinking wine from a box 

Still drunk from the day before 

Smoking cigarettes one after the other, 

And flicking the butts into the grass 

She would tell me how she was broken, and why

The stories never matched up, or made much sense 

But I didn’t doubt that she was broken 

Because I could see it in her face, loose and gray 

with deep creases that seemed carved by unsteady hands, 

and I could smell it on her breath always reeking of liquor and 

ash
And I could hear it in her laugh

Some laughs are infectious; hers was, 

But not in a good way; her laughter spread like a plague 

Infecting my thoughts, and my dreams, and tearing them apart 

Burying herself in the destruction, and feeding on it 

like a parasite

I can hear it now, haunting me 

And feeding on my sorrow, and on my mistakes 

The ones that I make all too often, 

telling me that I'm no different from her; that I’ll always be a 

failure 

Throwing back its head, spreading its dis-ease 

And I can’t escape.

______________________
 

OUT OF THE SHOWER

And dreaming
I stood there
Naked
Facing her
Still dripping

Bottle of red wine
In my hand

“Are you going to drink
Straight from the bottle?”

I lift the bottle
Let the smooth
Crimson liquid roll
Over my tongue,
Down my throat
Warming my soul

“Classy”
She says
 I drink
What’s left of the bottle
And say not a word.

_____________________

THANK YOU

We are born Alone
And we will die Alone
I don’t remember where I heard that,
It’s true though
And we spend every moment of our lives
Looking for ways
To forget it.

Looking for ways
To forget
That none of “This”
Means anything
That none of us
Mean anything
The absurdity of life

I know it’s not original
It’s been done by all the greats

But I still look in vain
For meaning
In everything I do
Increasing my hunger
By reminding me
That I will never find it

So I’ll just keep living
Like I’ve been living
In the bottom of bottles
Falling in love, and on my face
And breaking bones
Trying to mend broken hearts

Living every day
Like it’s my last
Because I know it is.

_______________________

Our thanks to Treighton Mauldin for today's poems and pix! ‪Treighton is a true California kid, with the childhood horror story to back it up—born and raised up and down California, from the Monterey seaside to a broken-down camper in a small Sierra Nevada mountain town, and many places in between. It's safe to say that stability and conformity are words that Treighton has never known, and continues to go out of his way to avoid. Treighton now lives in Oakland with his soon-to-be wife Elena and his unruly dog Falcor; look for him at the local bars with the scummy floors. Read more at treightonmauldin.com ‬

And we have a new photo album on Medusa's Facebook page today: SPC Black History Month Reading by Michelle Kunert. Check it out!

_______________________

Today's LittleNip:

Poetry asks us to tell what lies masked within.

—B.Z. Niditch

_______________________

—Medusa