December 20, 2009 at 10:38 am (Uncategorized)

(Thank y’all for comin’ by lately. Here’s a free poem)

Under the aquarium of the sky where the whales bump their faces on glass walls, snow buries the stove of my youth and makes a new hill, a lump like a shot elephant that the men in black jackets can’t dig out. And the funeral flowers pale in the unlamented December. Your voice is cough syrup to me because you are still in the place I left, and when you breathe out I can smell that you recently inhaled in a room I only

half-remember. I could sink so far back into the mud it felt like a hammock. If I stuck out my tongue the sunlight tasted like cherry pulp. I tripped through minutes over shoelaces and there was a marching band in my head nobody else ever heard.

Your voice smells like a room I once left and more often than not forget about, now. It’s helium-swollen by the strain of nostalgia and I would dislocate my head and give it to you, I’d let it sink like a stabbed inflatable boat to the bottom where even fish are blind.


  1. Monty said,

    that would be how ya do it 😀

  2. Chad Sexton said,

    wow. this is truely an amazing peice of poetry. it bit me hard in the but and wont seem to let go. keep on keeping on.

    • Tim Mahoney said,

      really?? you said it chad. i feel like im lost in a blizzard but know that any direction leads home.

      • forrestarmstrong said,

        Oh man, 311? It’s great to have you guys into this shit. I love your art too!

        Merry Christmas!

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