Summer’s End

I can’t really remember
What I have been doing
These past months, years

Maybe it is a mercy
Maybe it is survival
Maybe it is the only way

To get through it
To the other side
To the down time

I guess we all have the option
To not get involved
Close the door, turn on the TV

Shut it out, shut it down, shut it off
20 + 20 + 20 is an hour
To focus that long isn’t that hard

Run ink tracks through the page
Ride rubber into the sunrise
Coffee fueled, driven, driven mad

Long nights, sit in summer
Meditative rhythm of the respirator
Company of paper and sterile gauze

Passersby issue the hairy eyeball
Jaded nurses yearn for retirement
She walks now, I run

If I could get on my bike
Turn back time
No one would see me til September

 

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, August 2017

Perfect World

Wake and journal.
A few pages.

Coffee, but all after
I feed the pets.
They won’t wait for me.

Nor will my muse.
Write anyway.

Breakfast.
Morning, raw creation.

Lunch.
Afternoon, read or edit.

Cats won’t let it be past 4.
They get fed at 5, as do I.

Evenings dedicated to jazz, to wine,
To poetry read aloud to a lover,
To dishes, to hot baths, to hot sex.

Paycheck.
Public speaking.

Finished books.
Finished drafts to be books.
Drafts in progress. Drafts to be.

Cycling, cooking.
Music, dreaming.
Dancing, travel.
Dining, friends.

 

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, October 2017

Wayside

Depression is like a flat tire
Without a spare or a jack
Maybe it’s a hot day
You wait for the tow truck
Miserable in the heat

It’s the same old car
same old stretch of road
You are going nowhere
You can’t fix it
You have to wait

But wait!
Your body is trained
If you put on cycling clothes
Happy chemicals flood the brain
Lift you out of the episode

There is power in ritual
Exchange a flat, tired mind
Get out the door
Get on the bike
The rest will take care of itself

 

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, October 2017