three poems by Joseph Chipman

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there is a head
i use to pet
last i heard it was in the ground

these hands have held on
….but the dust
………that pools in my hands
……………isn’t what i originally grabbed hold of

gray skies
dot the cloudy eyes
……..and they always peer straight through

the body always hurts
and my tongue is always numb to you
…..but tonight it feels you
……………and its all i can do
…………as the dusty memories take form

…………always falling away
…………….i grab hold of something

***

subtle voyeuristic pornography of the fall
….watching the trees strip down
leaving a trail of their coverings
…….to a public viewing of the trees shaking against each other
………………rattling in the wind
………..making love in the chilly fall air

***

I am hole
not whole,
…………..hole
There’s a hole in my soul
………………a hole in my heart
………………a hole in my brain

……..there are holes in my arms
………………………..holes in my reasons
………………………..holes in the way I love

I drink to much to fill these holes
I need to much to not feel these holes

The chemicals swirl of failure is obvious
…………………..when you look at me as a whole

Joseph Chipman about Joseph Chipman
Due to circumstances, I ended homeless and an addict quite young. Worst part is I was to weird for the homeless weirdo’s, so I spent my youth high and in library’s. I found my voice on paper, and my soul found healing in music. I have grown I am no longer homeless, lost, or alone. I now have two people in my life, the woman that showed me how to be human and what love is, and a best friend who has shown me what family is. But I am still this creature trying to understand and be part of this strange human condition.

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