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waste

Jack Henry

i stand under
half-light,
words eager
to please
but my lips
numbed by
indifference.

a careless walk
brought me there.

a friend of a friend
of someone i never met
suggested that
i come read
my fervent words.

open mic, he said.

open mic.

i fumbled through
scattered sheets
filled with an idiots
rant.

searching.

nothing
new to say,
no bright light
shining through
scattered clouds
slapped atop
sheltering skies,
i dug deep,

back to the passages
before i cared
or
knew
or tried to sling anything
more than the miasmic
shit that cluttered
my simple mind;

utter nonsense,
line after line after line.

you get my point, right?

nothing stuck to my
gritty hands, nothing
sprang to life with more
than a sputtering cough,
oozing puss,
open wounds that never scab,
never heal

under the half-light
i parted my lips,
as if to speak,
as if to begin,

but i stopped,

stepped down
and walked out the door.

no sense in wasting
their time
when my time’s

a waste.

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