Written by Bogdan Dragos A lone ant crawled into his hair and went across his forehead to his eyelid He woke up Sand all around him and wood above But this was so far from hell Hell was a thing of the past now Now he had her by his […]
A Man Doesn’t Need Much To Cling To Life
kitten in the shoe By Bogdan Dragos
the room was cold and there were gray flowers of dampness blooming all over the walls He took off his shoes and the shoes were the warmest things in the room so the kitten climbed into one of them He sat on the mattress in the corner and petted the cat in the shoe He smiled and said to the kitten, "At least I have no debts." Even God agreed with him. He winked through the hole in the ceiling
the last notebook
he takes his old wrinkled notebook and the black pen and finds a spot from which he can observe the people and write down what he imagines to be their inner conversations It passes the time and it takes away attention from his own inner conversations It’s like a prescription drug he has to take for the rest of his life and the twenty-nine bookshelves filled with notebooks he has at home stand as proof of that But this will be the last one, he promises himself as he closes the notebook and walks up to the bridge
APATHY by Bogdan Dragos
She came from work pretty early and I knew when I saw her that she quit yet again She changed four jobs in the last five months and got a tattoo that said APATHY on her lower back Her father died five months ago. He died of what's called almost-drunk-driving He was sipping on a beer bottle while driving fairly slow on a country road But the front wheels hit some log or something and the impact triggered the airbag It bloomed in his face and stabbed the beer bottle into his eye causing him a major trauma to the brain R.I.P old man. Maybe not your wife but your daughter sure will miss you She's coming from work dirty and ragged Approaches me and demands a cigarette I give her a small lighter and she tells me to go fuck myself "Well you're done with work early today," I…
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around the smokey hole
You can still be good at what you do without liking what you do It’s more common than you’d imagine The words reflected his face in the steamy bathroom mirror He watched until he felt cold in his nakedness and shivered reached for the towel wiped got out of the bathroom put on clothes and returned to his writing desk The blank page was ugly unlike the somewhat encouraging words on the steamy mirror He reached into the drawer pulled out the pen stuck it into his mouth clicked it Reached again into the drawer pulled out the gun pointed it at the blank page fired He wrote for the remainder of the day and the next night around the smokey hole It was finally beautiful
cats are a great audience for poetry readings
the cat was utterly uninterested and downright bored with him reading mediocre poems by her side "You don't like this one?" he asked "It's about nature and birds flying and... and... How good does it have to be for you to like it? I'm only ten, I haven't lived long enough to write poems of grief and depravity like my father. But you know, I'm actually aiming to become better than him. I aim to be a more respected poet. What, you don't think I'll be able to? You think I'm just another deluded fool? I'll show you!" The cat stood and stretched raising her tail "Calm down, kid. First of all, your daddy was no poet. Just some drunk who spoke of demons as he passed out in bars. And you, you're not ten, okay? You're just ten days clean of meds." "You think I should end myself?" he asked The cat waved a paw at that. "Nah, just go on with the next poem. I'll be listening but please don't expect any praise. It's not in my nature to offer it, okay?" "But... you think I'll be a great poet one day?" The cat closed her eyes and offered no reply
sidewalk
I am a sidewalk
one upon whom your
feet dragged heavy and
wet and tired
and I wonder where you
are going
and where you're coming
from
I look up constantly and
am tired of soles and legs and
panties and dropped coins
and litter
and indifference
Too many people, too few dogs
and cats and some rats at night
But you are
different. You wear no shoes and
your little feet are cold and
so delicate
and in your wake you are painting
me with a trail of blood
you are not in the mood to
receive compliments, I know. But
I'll say it anyway. You are beautiful
I hope he never catches you
I wish there was
something I could do
about it
Daydreaming as a profession 