Joseph Pinto, the barflypoet
By Joseph Pinto
...drinkin' proofs and writin' truths...
Joseph Pinto, the barflypoetMar 27, 2024
vagary
‘vagary’
it’s not like i saw this coming but i sure as hell put it out there enough. signal like a streak of sun. when young mother would say careful or you’ll get hurt. now the call has been answered and twisted limbs are all i crave. these beacons bouncing between chests and i’m waiting for one of us to drop the broadcast but we’re not. we’ve reasons like forests yet when one screams the other listens and no matter the deaf you may face you’ll never catch sight of my back. toss babe to water. they’ll learn to swim. you’ve robbed the breath from my lungs but i’m still kicking until the moment you pull me back in
(do not let me surface again).
coddled as a child i’ve already died dozens of times but i pray by your hand i’ll finally cross over.
vagary
an unpredictable instance; a wandering journey;
a whimsical, wild or unusual idea, desire or action
*
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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vacuum
‘vacuum’
here’s the thing about lonely
you don’t need sun
for it to follow.
*
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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in this bar
‘in this bar’
i made the sad song a double
to fill the single shot of reality
i walked in with
between the eyes.
*
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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athazagoraphobia
‘athazagoraphobia’
tucked under your arm. fashioned for your palm. where you had gone i went and nothing had been so glorious. to be seen in silence. to be chosen without whoring the moral halo circling my tongue. but through my stagnancy your creases grew and grew and for all the times i asked up you set me down. free from your fingers a space snipped one thread by one the comfort i thought we’d woven. now a basket full robs the singularity i once grasped. your laughter skipping through that awful open door i’ve come to learn as maturity but all the filling stuffed inside my guts never prepared me for that.
*
athazagoraphobia:
the fear of forgetting,
being forgotten or ignored;
or being replaced
*
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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perpetual sap
‘perpetual sap’
right hand gives.
“where have your words gone,”
she asks
as if unaware
she’s ended all i gratefully share
though this she’s still willing
to take.
a slow drip from the bleeding tree
comes death of self-esteem;
i’ve a soft voice in saying
i love you,
a glazed stupor
when in silence
no reply.
*
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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rock salt
‘rock salt’
it built back in ’78 and never stopped. inches to feet, feet to yards, yards to an ever-accumulating expanse of miles. treacherous traveling but who ever thought to shovel the journey from beneath their eyes. howling winds the limbs seemed to withstand, trunks sure and strong my god did the lineage ever get it wrong. the dna never made to carry this mess the cells like glass impacted by the blocks kept by one and to one another. i remember the drifts the wind made the image of the grimmest wall that would never melt the vintage picture inside my head of solitude and slickness and of ribless cages which held last minute linguistic sickness the likes an elicit free spirit such as myself could never overcome. how did the grinch steal christmas and why would anyone with a bigger heart ever fucking care? nowadays we spin the past like some carnival gone through town and we smile and we laugh. nowadays what once froze us seems to blow through oh so often but every single step in preparation of the storm burns.
rock salt:
also known as halite;
a type of salt that comes
from the rocky layers of
the earth’s crust and is
formed from the remnants
of ancient bodies of water
*
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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bring your christmas decorations in
‘bring your christmas decorations in’
fickle february melts then brings back the snow
under a dead eye i walk counter-clockwise
time flies with the crow and at the corner
a myriad of directions
only one choice.
baby jesus left outside
from the manger did he make much noise
i sympathize
shunned for reliance upon my own voice
does plastic skin still tremble
will it ever warm
taken inside?
mary and joseph say the wind slays
on days like these
i walk along
tongue full of daggers.
*
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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have pain, will travel
‘have pain, will travel’
these high hats make funny shadows of my hands
three for the price of one
like auras illustrating the way i feel
dark, grey and just a whisper.
i have no business writing under this light
it will only fuck up my sight, really
but anyone wondering what i might be up to
will bear witness to my laborious squinting,
my dogged approach, and not realize
the sheer amount of despair i carry.
*
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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when will she
‘when will she’
she brought the woods into my heart
but she insists on standing
outside our forest
this lone tree without sun
this bent thinking of hers.
when will she realize
she has every right to sky
and no seed goes punished.
of all the limbs i could choose
i choose hers to wait under
and when it becomes too much
i’ll cup all she spills
and gently nourish her roots.
when will she learn
whichever way she leans
is the direction i am after.
*
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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curtain
‘curtain’
veiled silence enlightens the nuances
tonight a young woman appears animate,
she is pale and fainting by inches,
i know, my cranial base a window
but without the view.
what covers my eyes a phantom illusion;
she’s security issues while i
a letter without return
,
address and in this imaginary flesh
i try. the abyss comes forged in alabaster
not the barely sufficient perpetuity
for which i strive.
the woman loves a charmer but i am
a workshop, solemnity like cardboard
steeped clear of water;
she’s a priestess;
i the careless temple of pretend.
*
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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corner
‘corner’
i don’t want to be here anymore.
i’m not afraid to admit it.
i’m not afraid to say it.
i’m tired of the constant dismissals.
i’m tired of actions not matching the words
the cowardice, the absolvement of blame,
the walking away like i hardly ever mattered,
or was, or will be.
i’m tired of my role.
i’m tired of my mask.
i’m tired of writing in a pad
whoring myself under the pimp of a hand.
*
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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komorebi
‘komorebi’
for once i lost the words. for once all in my world drew its breath. you, cross-legged atop your blanket, me, little boy bursting from my chest. the portrait brushed around us so lush in pause. “on my final day this is where i wish to end,” but a playful frog took my thoughts before i vented. and the lake you longed adopted i immediately made my own, a mirror i had lacked all my life. my throat hitched. i turned my back so you wouldn’t see. you know me, my leaky eyes, my emotional complexities. “i fucking love you,” but mother nature had stripped my expression to its core. no sense fighting it, in that moment i surrendered myself to you. no sense denying it, my little boy chose you as home. “don’t you run away don’t you run away don’t you ever run away,” he clung, but you couldn’t. still in gain, i felt your loss. but your smile the only sound, and our frog’s hide-and-seek, and the birds’ twinkling star reveries. all this, at last, and you, was being. and when i finally turned i caught you, a spark before the new night, a shimmer and a flare and any and all the language could never describe you under my eyes, and when we kissed i knew you’d taste all four letters of your name across my lips.
komorebi:
the scattered light
that filters through
when sunlight shines
through trees
*
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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final test
'final test'
drink till all goes spinning
riches a combustion within the head
rejuvenated spark a circle
an expression of deafness,
immediately night flutters
and a pedestal
above the strange and fantastic,
this imperceptible ghost.
multiplied the fall
a stiff wire my shadow jumped
top bottom, almost incarnate,
now the others disorient
the pale of my spirit and regrets
like a hasty man’s mistakes.
but my own, severed, twitching
and awakened; the idea i am trying
to read language again
words full of hours and transparent with
darkness.
the morning worker buzzes my window.
flattered, i loop sentences around my
throat and opening the sash i find my way
to a most peaceful conclusion.
*
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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no title
(volume up)
‘no title’
left hand receives.
the universe’s temperament
presses with its giving hand
against my throat.
why did i come here to drink?
assessment of my days
like a piano hits the wrong notes.
four stools down the maestro
taps a blue pen. unforgivingly.
jesus bathes under mosquito corpses.
the last draft of my story
requires a final edit.
with a whoosh the front door opens,
so quiet as it closes.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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in a hotel away from eyes
‘in a hotel away from eyes’
the haunt is recognizable staring back
i know this from when i was young
the father, the son, neither ever holy,
like stray dogs followed the ghost
of which so many but now only one.
the watch gone missing
though like cicadas the spinning hands
buzzed and interrupted unseen thoughts,
until finally manifested too late.
“i don’t want to die”
but by then cancer claimed him,
a cheap stripper
breasts squeezed together for a last fleshly feel.
lately my watch
has been slipping down my wrist.
maybe he never had time
to think it through but i have,
and once they get past
the do not disturb sign
they’ll find me jesus on the cross,
and they’ll say
this is the exact time he went done,
last dollar looking to be broken
from his mouth.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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the light in the dark
‘the light in the dark’
every story has a start. so this is what that is. a start. or maybe this is the end, because a start does not necessarily begin cleanly. so this might very well be the start of the end. and if you think i’m being poetic, i’m not. i think i’ve reached the point where i can be honest and say i’m existing, and that’s just not life, right? every day struggling to find meaning while excuses add up. why am i staying when my worth has been proven less? it’s a bitter pill to swallow when only now i’m asked what’s wrong and the distance between soul and body is so far gone. maybe this is for my daughter. she’ll never understand my prose but i hope she’ll keep my voice. maybe it’s a way for her to know the faces i wore were never those i wished to own. morning after morning, brushing her hair, while hopelessly tangled in my own wears. maybe for her, right? or maybe, maybe for me, to keep from leaving, to digest all of the meanings, like the markers i was taught to read on the trail. it’s all so tragic. and i guess that’s why i’m a healer. the giver to keep your pain. the light in the dark when no one else sees. so this is the start of the story. i left to stumble back. a fool to still share myself. a fool you still keep my heart. and i’ll say this is what’s eating me alive without speaking those words. and maybe i can heal you one day, or maybe save someone else. and maybe i’ll decide to keep going, or maybe choose it’s all too much. we all want to be happy, don’t we? we all want to be accepted for our true selves. so this is me. when you feel your end coming, you rewind to the start. a step backwards to maybe move forward.
or something like that.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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abditive
‘abditive’
part of the sham is participating in it. so pour the masquerade like a cold one into glass. drink it slow or fast. doesn’t matter because the bloat will follow you home. all they say heads your way but never is it meant for you. like bubbles children try to snatch from july sky, it floats just close enough to delight then gone. every one of those conversations a soap slick residue atop your skin. nothing short of an unnatural phenomenon. so stick it out with that glassy smile of yours. no one dangles anything close enough that might crack it.
'abditive'
having the quality of hiding
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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and i know
‘and i know’
and i know
that you don't want
what i want
anymore.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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approaching
‘approaching’
the moon approaching
the transformation begins
this beast now a wilder thing.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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can't stop me
it’s nearly summer vacation so now what’s your excuse??
‘can’t stop me’
when i get the call
that my daughter’s school
is closing due to inclement weather
i stay up late
and drink like it’s the first day
of summer vacation.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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piggies
‘piggies’
and just like that
she makes her feet
home in my lap
says boy rub my piggies
i came a long way for your palms
well i never
had no market
now i’m stocking shelves
i wanna keep her fed and
i love her tongue in my mouth
so she tastes me inside out
and knows she no longer walks alone
and if my baby wants me
i’ll carry my baby home
i am home, i am home
for my baby
i am home, i am home
for my baby
and just like that
she steals my heart
away in her eyes
says boy always blind me
tired of moon now i need your sun
well i never
had no market
now i’m stocking shelves
i wanna keep her fed and
i love her tongue in my mouth
so she tastes me inside out
and knows she no longer walks alone
and if my baby wants me
i’ll carry my baby home
i am home, i am home
for my baby
i am home, i am home
for my baby
it’s time to lose my boots
the way she lost her shoes
i am home, i am home
for my baby
i am home, i am home
for my baby
and she is home, she is home
that’s my baby
she is home, she is home
that’s my baby
this is home, this is home
for us baby.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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at 2am
the bottles, the empty bottles…
‘at 2am’
i'll put this as succinctly as i can:
you treat me like shit.
disguise your shortcomings if you must
(and you must)
preach the honor of your duty
(i no longer listen)
the only role i have ever asked
is that you actually see me
instead you have left me wayward
twisting in restless sleep
drowning in bottles;
i am not above saying
i have failed.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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filipendulous
someone teach me the reasons and not the lesson…
‘filipendulous’
tired. spell it. two vowels and thirty-three bowed vertebrae like overpacked luggage from my spine. i’m good keeping possessions but what i own ain’t mine. a chest with a hole and no room to fit in. one more scotch or bourbon don’t ask for reasons i wouldn’t know where to start and if i did you wouldn’t listen. a shadow scabbed over shouldn’t be picked. so what to do when the lies itch? hard work pays off in the end, my father once said, then i laid with his stiff cold corpse and the times told tomorrow as a boy no longer applied. so now a man i am lost holding an iou with no bank to deposit or account to withdraw. my smile often keeps the corners but i’ve no face to back it up.
'filipendulous'
hanging by a thread
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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she's just angry
and this is why i love writing from bars.
i think i need to go on tour…
‘she’s just angry’
cries:
he used me
he took all the best
i was.
she sucks angry on her cigarette
the way she sucked angry
on his dick.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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avoidance
moments are few but here is my one…
‘avoidance’
mother and father took the tines to my eyes but never time to soothe my tongue and so much of my embryo goes unanswered like why did i grow into who i am and why do i see now what i’ve been blind to before and who the fuck nourished me when most obviously my bloodlines ran thin? i am not yours and clearly i am so wayward how could i ever put forth a signal to be heard? generations ensuing my cells will never know the pliancy of my flesh but my daughter keeps the consistency of who i am and for that reason alone i stay present in all my moments no matter how they crush me.
'avoidance'
an action of emptying,
vacating or clearing away
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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monachopsis
perfectly whole yet not quite together…
‘monachopsis’
a thousand interlocking pieces yet none hold the smooth to slip me in. a shape with projection i seem to push the mass away. even if we lock would i ever want to conform to your spatial monotony? i hear what you’re saying but it’s falling on deaf ears. you want me here but a path leads from the sash i’ve left open. inch turned to gap. the draft never turned your head to notice so neither will the guilt when i move on. it’s a pretty picture when all comes together. there’s a hole in the middle rendering it obsolete.
'monachopsis'
the subtle yet persistent
feeling of being out of place
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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death no matter
‘death no matter’
these people
they think i die to drink
no, no friends
i drink to die.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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playbill
do you stay well after the curtain drops…?
‘playbill’
fifth act. we find our protagonist once fool now hanged man center stage and all unfolding behind eyes does so unaware of severed cords to facial expression and while heart trembles worrisomely to outcomes beyond measure he’ll suspend expectation and keep forever his surrender
waiting.
'playbill'
a poster announcing a theatrical performance
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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beacon
where are the fresh voices and deliveries?
why is so much presented for the eyes
and not crafted from the heart?
‘beacon’
we live in a world
of posers and followers
desperate for the
free and brave
to liberate us
from all the shit.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.
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band-aid, she always uses a band-aid
he’s interesting—
he’s well-traveled
he’s a musician on weekends
he’s single
but he’s not my type.
i listen to her words
and shake my head sadly
knowing she’ll find a reason
to take him up on a night out.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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assassin
looking thru the glass. and seeing nothing…
‘assassin’
something’s swimming in my snifter that shouldn’t be. maybe part of a bug or yet another piece of myself i’ve been forced to swallow and now repeats in untimely fashion like when i want to forget the knife holes in my back. usually i ignore all leaking down my spine but it’s hard when all i want to really say goes whistling through. i’m sure if i had you alone you’d see i’ve crossed your name off from my list. a concise unshaking line that speaks of cold-blooded laces knotted to shoes walking on. the rich irony to be mocked as boy who conjures things he can’t see when quite clearly here you are holding conversation with a ghost. when next i greet you, and you, and you, i’ll glide untethered and true in the knowing a single shot took me out and into peace. until then i’ll knock back this booze and ignore the defineless particles which once i may have been but surely now no more.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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yes isn't always the answer
you figure things out the hard way…
‘yes isn’t always the answer’
yes isn't always the answer
i couldn't figure out
what he meant
but it became clearer
after several shots of irish whiskey
look, sometimes you have to grow balls
and stick up for yourself
be a man and not some compliant pussy
that rolls over to your woman.
he suddenly got a text from his wife
and hurried home.
i poured whiskey down my throat
stumbled in at 4am
walked into walls
pissed in the sink
and caught holy hell.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.
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gallimaufry
and here hanging is a wardrobe of uncertainty…
‘gallimaufry’
here, there, you left your face and if only i knew which expression belonged. eyes constantly turning, mouth always churning and one nail is not enough to raise you up and into light. there’s a plastic to your condition that doesn’t agree under the ridges of my fingertips. i can’t collect you any longer. i can’t listen to the fabrication of your syllables mimicking the drop of my lids. i can’t take that drawl of a head nod pretending you understand each turn of a day brings about another how did it go wrong. i’d brush you a thousand different ways if i had the color. i’d hide you a million more with cover. so tell me how to navigate hours when i can’t steer minutes thru storms. drywall prepared with neat holes of precision and the decision of which facade to pull down is a tortuous one.
#barflypoet
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© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.
change of scenery
'change of scenery'
shoulders slumped
he left his house
there his posture straightened
along with his optimism.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
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© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.
muffin
'muffin'
it’s the kind of wind that runs through your house like an intolerable child bored from their mind, the kind of wind that brings about pause and makes you question all the warmth you’ve allowed to escape from your life. the kind of wind that pairs best with chili because like you it comes together in a mess. i love you, she says, and you know it’s only because she’s devoted to separating your thoughts from your head. outside the boughs frown like the curvature of your body, bagged atop the mattress like a baker’s dozen, growing day by day stale.
#barflypoet
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© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.
muffin:
a small soft cake baked in a cup shaped container
trampoline
‘trampoline’
clear sky thins the smoke from the eyes but exasperation dries the slick out from the tongue. no piecing together of clever words can ever detract from the lines you hurl and cool cheeks betray bleats of a mourning heart. higher and higher you’re always at it say you’ll stop just like an addict keep me down as long as you rise up. on and on you’re so dramatic flip the script it’s your bad habit here’s the blame you’ll only pass the buck. and you go up. and i go gone gone and you go up. and i go gone gone and you go up. and i go gone gone gone.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.
trampoline:
a resilient sheet or web (as of nylon)
supported by springs in a metal frame
and used as a springboard in tumbling
words like ghosts
‘words like ghosts’
'go live your life,
she told him.
but he didn’t know how
without her.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.
tiger
but who ever listens..?
'tiger'
caution! do not put fingers or hands into the cage! yet you fail to heed the warning time and time again. it cannot help if you now lack the necessary digits to pound your discriminatory reports under its eyes or the common sense to keep from worming back into its head. incessant you ignored the cue from its rollbacked ears and still you brandish the nerve to curse the beast when it is only wont to do beast things.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.
proof
just leave the bottle…
‘proof’
weakness from an old injury. the broke breaks deeper than the disobedience of soul to bone. i’ve oft tried to mend myself with white cocktail napkins and while catching the spill they could never wipe the mess. there’s not much left but a photograph of us along michigan avenue. who knows if heaven exists but something beyond our capacity to reason raised our lips skyward that day and if you think i don’t still feel the phantom of your hands when pleasuring myself then what of life have i left? in this worn-out bar silhouettes throw back with punch line violence and here i am still sipping the cadence of your shoes. you’ll always be in my vision but i order one more just to spite my face.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.
obvious metaphor
‘obvious metaphor’
though pretty
the dandelions
choke and
kill the
lawn.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.
appreciation
‘appreciation’
a devil’s deal
for love
heart freely ripped
gnarled vines replacing
fruitless
eyes rust weeping
emaciated clouds
sun refuge
shovel,
he handed
break soil,
he spoke,
only now can you appreciate drought.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.
lorn
'lorn'
good god almighty, you widen my eyes with clandestine grandeur, salve my tongue as vessel to your unknowable ways…only to rob me lost of true fervor, my faith upon my knees before eternal night, pregnant above my ashen countenance in bedeviling possibilities?
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.
lacuna
'lacuna'
still waiting here, a blue without horizon, an awful gale without wind to blow. your name about the corners in reflective manifestations, none the direction from where we came. keeping the posture when the rain falls teeming down, the realization tread water means one has since drowned. and when the sun dries the sodden mess it leaves me feeling worse. at best. no more skipping puddles or reimagined clouds with a picket fence. hands fill the pockets but nothing overflows my heart the way your hip once anointed seamlessly along mine. the passerby give no note to the stoic man with westward eyes, homeward.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.
euthanasia
'euthanasia'
recognition, spoken through your eyes. i heard you and maybe someday someone will hear me too. years spent like seconds. i woke before ready. a long walk before i tied my shoes. spirit moves along without care to pack and even slipping you filled my arms with more than they could hold. i want you back i want you back i want you back. there’s no rushing from the house early mornings anymore. no burst of light greeting me through the door.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.
whelve
'whelve'
my father kept many tools i never knew how to use. little boy hands still feel little boy in adult bones. remarkably he transferred his sins into the soil of all my pores but to this day i can’t fix a thing. when he moved on i took his toolbox heavy as all the burdens he never spoke a word of and just as cool. in a side room off from my basement he waits to be mended but i’ve closed him to the dark. i can smell his curses mushrooming like smoke from diesel stacks and his words linger longer than summer did when i was six. loose screws require the perfect twist but all falls apart when stripped. he’d call me useless in those bursts of deflection and dutifully my eyes fell to the dirt under my nails. i’m sorely scrubbed now and the irony is i no longer feel under my fingertips. the apple falls no farther from the tree nor does a bent angle lean from its foundation. i pound with fury all that no longer fits foregoing his wrenches. round holes don’t accept five knuckles but i’ve the flayed skin to prove that’s not fucking true at all.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.
pernoctation
‘pernoctation’
another then another more. so much time elapsed yet you’re home in all my minutes spent. there’s no keeping glass from lips the way i can’t alter your cells from my bones. another dark eve of legs’ serenade and what can i say i’m rubbed the wrong way by my angel’s promise of our dissolution of silence. i’ll wear this floor thin, your voice and the songs i loop for you commanding my head. the house nor the crickets rearrange their patterning to my noise and that’s when i suffer in plain sight and no one knows. how can i sleep hoping this night might be the one, how can i collapse within myself when i have never stopped collapsing into you. my phone a tombstone yet i believe the dead can rise again. another then another more. these pours measure the distance between reality and a lie. i suppose that’s why so much of what i drink lingers under my tongue. upon death it is said we repeat into which we expended our energy most. so i am destined an eternity of blurred vision and vesper’s chafing across skin, uneven footing dragging the chains of devotion. fear the haunting ghost but most disregard the damned cupping a flame with conceptionless hands.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.
pneumatophany
'pneumatophany'
there are five stages to grief and i’ve got two hands, ten fingers. wiggle them fast enough and it’s goodbye. i told my mother i had died. she said that’s nice and went about vacuuming the living from the room. from that point i didn’t trouble her to share the news. you have all scraped the value from my existence like burnt edges from toast anyway. pass something through flame and it’s either transformed or destroyed. why then do you pity the ashes while the new chassis denied? i didn’t ask for this deliverance into the light i was thrust any more than i’d begged to be heard over her old electrolux. decades later and those floors are no cleaner. now here we are. mother won’t answer my call from the other side so on the rare instance i visit i am mindful to keep my charred appearance as not to scare her.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
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© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.
sciamachy
'sciamachy'
and will we be? and will we be? and will we be? and what will we be, aside the nothing we are. round and round slaughtering the sheep and perhaps i’d sleep had not blood steeped this bed. sliver of moon about the only thing cutting this head open to rationale. settle in, and down, and dream, guides say from beyond the veil and i would had they left instruction. instead crickets rub their legs with a scratch above more than i can bear and punches thrown across the wall go ducked. i want you cast from head to heart and wondering when will we be us leaves me fucked beyond recognition. i never asked to meet you but you came thundering in and like lightning flashed out. so how do i go on when every step illuminates another path you’re not found? why the weight worn when my soul holds your love in a state of buoyancy? punch the bully first and don’t stop i was taught and yet have i kept my brain from spinning. constellations perforate ruminations and for a slow moment something so far away falls down across my fingertips.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.
corps
'corps'
it’s never been about the good you have said but the supportive you haven’t. frayed on the inside, the diligence of tying ribbons round ribs like souls lost to war and never coming home. you wouldn’t know a thing of my patriotism in the teeth of your heavy fire. pockmarked soul the price of incoming shells and i’ll no longer be the outgoing saint i’d been. somewhere in those fields the mewl for momma while dulled surgeons and scissors fumble to cut the cord. you have failed me in such epic proportions future generations will hold my limbs and say here, the ancient man turned to slug. i drag this sack of meat before you desperate you’ll smell the rot but i am recipient only of that karmic reducing perfume of yours. ignorance never took such a fragrant path to my nose. so come holidays we’ll speak of imaginary storm fronts that threaten you worse than the notion your child wanders the front line geared in little more than dulled eyes. leave no man behind but quite obviously you forgot the boy.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.
thermal
'thermal'
between nest and sky you caught me at my weakest. advantageous you kept a suggestive mouth. cunning i filled it where the living no longer walk or speak and i despised the taste of myself whenever we kissed. you nourished my irresoluteness until fragility took to your words. i harbored resentment even as i worshipped your breasts. you never understood the rational that migratory and delusionary patterning would take me away. entertaining your flawed notion that all raised remains home, i sucked down your toting love and spat it back your way. never was i your baby boy. never i the sparkle in your eye. i flew the coop and you couldn’t cope. no longer one with your air, this chick you thought now a hawk. i circle and circle above while you believe me prey to the currents. i’ve a way to lull with outstretched wings as the blue sky disguises my intentions.
#barflypoet
#josephapinto
www.josephpinto.com
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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'From My Front Steps,' 'Scotch and Scars' and 'A Distilled Spirit' poetry collections available in paperback and ebook on Amazon.