Monday, December 8, 2008

P.M. (Poem) by Peter Schwartz

by Peter Schwartz

His discipline wakes moments before him.
It pours water for his pills then waits in silence.

A balcony, and doubt.
Chemistry, and doubt.
The guest, and doubt.

In a few years his blankets of doubt will be thick as snow. Whether he'll ever go home will depend on his will. The rest will fly away on crutches. He'll watch it from a balcony and drink vodka.

Another guest, and faith.
Symmetry, and questions.
Suffering, and authority.

His discipline does three sets of fifty push-ups then doesn't call his ex-wife. Her voice would be sandpaper anyway. She's just one of many ways. He half expects friendship from the post office.

And still he hasn't read
his darkest horoscope.

Author bio:

Peter Schwartz has more styles than a Natal Midlands Dwarf Chameleon. He's been published on such sites as: Arsenic Lobster, Mannequin Envy, Opium Magazine, 42 Opus, 5 Trope and Verdad, and such print journals as: Asheville Poetry Review, Knock, Neon and VOX. His third chapbook 'ghost diet' is forthcoming with Altered Crow Press. See the extent of his shenanigans at

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