Millstone take me home

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a free verse poem of addiction, mental health.. blah blah you know, the haunting thing's in life, and also about god being, well a homeless man, and jesus, a dog. read for a reflection, read to skim, read to shake your head, whatever, your still a part of it. -Snaggle

Submitted: January 01, 2014

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Submitted: January 01, 2014



I want slow music

Something slightly country,

And domesticated so I can feel it


I want something to write about

Other than I, me and this

I want a smoke break to imagine

Something outside 


I want too lose myself

Go fucking nuts

And for good reason


Skip the medication

Feel my body squirm for weeks

The spring in my head released

Eye’s sinking red

Nerves none the less

Humming like the juke box behind me

In this boarded up bar of mind

Called millstone…



The word has two definitions:

-Two stone’s for grinding grain


-A heavy, inescapable responsibility

I understand both, but not why

I continue to let the word define me



With light’s flickering

Bottles dusty and neon

Feeling every damn particle

As it mixes with the smoke in my lungs


Smoke like clouds in a sky

Where the sun never fall’s


Smoke like closing time

Smoke like eternity


I watch myself in the mirror

Writing, waiting for a good line

And drinking something Canadian


I think of all the billions like me

Like you now

And how if you are reading this

You may be seeing a reflection too

Well, I don’t wish that upon you

But can you blame me for reaching in

To find something I can bring out


If I could, I’d take the tumor from your humanity

If I really wanted too I’d take the sponge from my chest

And breathe in the entire world

All at once


There is a stray cat with me in the bar and

It’s running around chasing ghosts


There is a dog somewhere tied to pole

Outside another bar I’ve never been to


There’s a junkie, a dead insect in the windowsill


There’s a mother cleaning every dish twice


There’s an old man in a nursing home

Yelling at the nurse for getting his food order wrong


There are children, their friends, and their enemies


There’s a newly born baby’s crying for no reason

At all but to hear themself cry


And then there’s me

Writing the same thing over and over again

To you, to myself

Both of us old in the future


I walk outside, the warm stirring inside

Yet flushed and sickly

From writing so honestly


It’s snowing

It’s white, like an unpainted mask over

A man in a morgue


A mask

Over all those filter sucking moments

Of speed, and bone numbing comas


It’s cold

So cold I could close my eyes

And dream myself under ice


So cold that I suddenly remember my body


So cold that I could die warmly

And wake up

From this suspended dream

Floating in infinity

With you, a ghost in mind

No longer my haunting angel


A man wearing a blue tarp calls me over

From under the streetlight

He’s naked under the tarp, but he hide’s it well


He tells me that he is god, and that he is afraid of dying

I tell him I agree, and hand him the bottle

We pass it back and forth

And talk about thing’s that never get said aloud


He tells me how sometimes he wants to give up

I raise the bottle jokingly and tell him “You already have”

He smiles a look that looks to the ground


“What about you?” He asks me

“What about me?

“Have you given up?”

“Given up on what?”

“So you have”

“Leave it be, I feel good right now, the night is beautiful”

“Yea I suppose it is”


I see an animal in the bushes

His yellow eye’s reflecting off the streetlight

“That’s my baby boy” god tells me

“That animal in the bushes is Jesus?”

“Yep, he is a black lab, follows me around,

Not my dog, but some ones around here”

“Jesus is a dog?”

“We all are in a way”

“Nice metaphor god”

“It’s not a metaphor, I’m a father, not a poet”


I watch the eye’s watching me

Watching god


“Did you give up or give in?” He asks me

“What’s the difference?”

“Right, look I’m just worried about you son”

“But you don’t even know me? We just met.”


Jesus blinks and the world goes blind


“I told you, I’m god, and you are my child.”

“Yea and I’m Richard fucking Nixon.”

I tell him, watching a fat bird slowly survive

Too late to fly his heavy body south


I hear a child coughing,

It echoes from somewhere close

So close as if it were a whisper in my ear


“Did you hear that? God? Hey where are you going?”


“Doe’s it really matter? Any place is home!”


He yells back to me,

Pulling his blue tarp somewhere new


I look to the footprints he leaves

Down the white heaven of lamp light’s

And abandoned buildings

Into the dark, and out of mind


I begin to cough too, furiously,

I cough until I dry heave, until I vomit

The bile steaming red

In the snow


I sit down at the bus stop across the street

And listen to the world pass

I pull out my journal of writings

I read over them and the thought of praying crosses my mind

But instead I light another smoke, and look for Jesus in the bushes

But he isn’t there. He never was, it was just a stray

I tell myself in fear of believing something beyond 

And then he nudges my knee and lick’s my hand

And all I can do is laugh


I close the book, and I stick it inside a newspaper box

And then despite everything I’ve told myself before, I pray


“God, deliver what I’ve written to the world,

Because I’m too much like you,

I can’t be there when they read it”


We begin to walk

You me and Jesus the dog

All of us looking for someplace warm

All of us looking for ourselves

As if we had the power

All of us walking like god

Under the streetlights

Hugging tightly to home

Like a blue tarp 

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