Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.

Tag Archive for ‘Carl James Grindley’

Who Knew

Who knew? It was the night before the world ended, and we sat up for no real reason, just talking. Before I knew it, you were sitting on the front steps smoking all the cigarettes I had smuggled in from Seattle. Rain dripped off the rotting soffit edge and filled the ashtray with water; it was disgusting but we kept smoking. There was little else to say, so we smoked. […]

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It Rained the Whole Damn Time

Even the trees are drunk: it is that green here, that wet, and as much as you hate to admit it, it is Pacific Northwest wet; wet enough so you have to call your brother and beg your brother to come and flip the boat in your backyard over on its gunwales before it fills up and ruins your spring with a Pharaonic plague of mosquitoes. That would be fine, […]

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Playing Piano

A million anodynes that should have numbed to brevity all of the prizes I never won, all of the happy endings that clanged harmlessly off my life: none of them worked, the hours spent in search of the next drug-like novelty wasted, wet ashes on the floors of an ancient bar, stale beer, and the prospect of unendurable loneliness. As I fumble for the correct chords, my fingertips rebel and […]

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