Daily Archives: April 24, 2013


“I Died Earlier Tonight” by Jeff S. Stinson

I died earlier tonight
I breathed my last
And threw myself in front of a car –
Driving down the narrow street
This is the street where I used to live

Bam!

Liquid crimson melts into the black asphalt
The blood warms the cold pavement
My skin and bones are torn to pieces
Like a complete jigsaw puzzle –
Thrown in the air and landing on concrete

Memories of me are splattered everywhere
Others will forget, even if it takes awhile
My parents will be lied to –
The witnesses will be Pinocchio
"It wasn't suicide," they will say
"It was a terrible accident," "The driver couldn't stop in time"

I've been waiting for 5 months
Waiting for this

I want to be with him
He died on this spot too
Right here where I was last standing
The stain of him hasn’t disappeared

He is here
I wrap him closely in my arms
He is alive
We are together and the living are now invisible








for Lycan, d.11-3-2012

“Rolling Down an Endless Hill” by Jeff S. Stinson

I roll down the hill – not because I want to
Because I was pushed
Not literally, but pushed none-the-less
He tries my patience and I want to hit him in his head
Like I’d play Whack-a-Mole

He is better looking than me
And I hate him for it
Younger, stronger, but not smarter
I bruise as I fall further down the hill
Grass stains invade my clothing

In my fantasies I whip out my gun and watch him beg
He breaks out in a sweat, like he has fever
He trembles only slightly less than if sitting on an ice block
I watch him wither
And it makes me smile, then makes me laugh hysterically

I reach the bottom of the hill and look up
He stands at the top of the hill, staring down at me
To him I am nothing, He calls me by that name

There are so many things in life I hate
And I hate many other things as well
Tell me how to be happy
Right now - If I start screaming will you help me to stop?
Will I be able to?

“Disfigured Sonnet #13″ by Jeff S. Stinson

Have you ever seen
A little girl
Nameless
And homeless
And poverty stricken
And blue
And dead
And rotting
And forgotten?

Police
Put Jane Doe in a body bag
Where is her mother
And her father
And her friends
And her future?

ZZZIP says the body bag
Too bad says a passing jogger
McDonald’s for lunch? Asks the policeman
Plop says the thrown bundle
As it is carelessly thrown
Into the back
Of a colorless van.

“Retirement Home” by Jeff S. Stinson

An old woman sits in her bed
And watches time slowly drip down the wall
A single bed, a small wooden table
A TV, and a view into the courtyard

She flips through the television channels
Afraid she will miss something
Everything twirling around her too quickly
There isn’t enough time

Her new puppy stares up at her from the floor
His tail wagging with excitement
The old woman’s frown deepens
She gazes at her little friend
Realizing he will outlive her
And then it will be his turn to be alone

The Poet’s Haven presents… Michael Bernstein

Michael Bernstein is a writer, bass player, and intermedia composer. He received a BA from Columbia College, and an MFA from Naropa University. His work has appeared in publications such as New American Writing, milk, and BlazeVOX, as well as in numerous chapbooks. With Michael Crake, he edits the online literary arts magazine Pinstripe Fedora. His chapbook 8s (eights) was published by The Poet's Haven Author Series.

Recorded June 2011 in South Euclid, OH

RUNTIME: 11:49



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