Meditation does nothing for my
compost heap cancer thoughts, meanwhile
a tiny white light throbs in
Christmas tree pubes, slow, then
desperate, buttressed
by peace, goodwill
towards men,
New Year’s
reek.
Trees with their zapped hair curse off-the-clock
saints sad with no smokes. I’m tucked in a tea cup of low juice stars. No
carb no laughs sad luck who
thunk. Lakes bleed through the
wings of my mind.
Far off chimes
sing off-
key.
Tell me, what is tangible about
innumerable tabs? These days a sinkhole closet claims one
foot while the other whines
for Adderall. It’s
like I’m in a
Beckett play.
Turnips,
please.
Caleb Bouchard is the author of The Satirist (Suburban Drunk Press 2023). His poems have recently appeared in The Laurel Review, Litro, Rejection Letters, and Salamander. He lives outside Atlanta where he teaches college-level writing.
The Satirist is now on sale on Amazon. Signed copies are available through the author on IG: @calebbouchard.
