As if there were any doubt,
perhaps a mere shadow of,
nodding across the drive way,
straddling the fence of existence,
the tree in the yard,
I believe it was a willow,
a velvet smooth sky, silk orange sheen,
pillow soft aborigine,
the light that flickers through Autumn’s crispness,
sun spots dance in my periphery,
hearing you whisper,
it bounced off the walls,
felt you shiver,
my bones go without,
I love myself more now
than I ever hated myself then.
Expect no less,
I’m more than the stillness of a panicked crowd;
I’m the calmness chaos instills.
Kevin R. Farrell, Jr. is an artist, poet, and educator whose work attempts to capture life from the vantage point of someone in the backseat of a stolen car running on fumes. His poems are a play on words in the form of political, satirical, surrealist, tongue in cheek rants that often border on stream of consciousness ramblings that are a last ditch effort at taking it all in before we get taken out.