figuring out why ive been quiet for so long. its all so tiring.

figuring out why ive been quiet for so long. its all so tiring.

A Poem by Boyd Johnson

i cant run away anymore.

 

$250 a month loan.

$250 a month insurance.

goD knows how much a month

           woman.

 

she cries

every night.

 

its warranted.

 

the ghosts crowd her

theyve gotten

their pound from her.

 

they still want more.

 

she sees their faces

she cant run

cause theyre watching.

 

i cant run

becuase i signed a piece of

death warrant

 

promising

real nice like

i wouldnt.

© 2008 Boyd Johnson


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Reviews


A wonderful slice of yer life you have given us. I like the form. I was let down at the end however. Not in content, but in form. If yer gona forgo the punctuation, Allow the line-breaks to set the tone. You wrote:

"i cant run
because i signed a piece of
death warrant"

...a heavy concept to consider. I would have written:

i cant run
because i signed a piece of
death
warrant

...a small change, but effective in driving home the seriousness of such a thought/concept; after all, we're talking about the sanctity of marriage here. I think that line-break gives the reader a chance to digest what he/she has just read. The spacing underscores the seriousness of the statement.

Posted 15 Years Ago


Wow. I'm speechless. This is so close to home it's disconcerting. Thank you.

Posted 15 Years Ago


This is wonderfully understated and matter-of-fact, all of which is underscored by the short stanzas and sentences and the lack of ornamentation. It's a picture of someone who, on the surface, seems very unemotionally connected to the unseen woman...and yet he stays. The simplicity of the language and the lack of showy verbiage and imagery belies the depth of the piece. This is writing that grows on you with repeated reading.

Posted 15 Years Ago



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Added on October 10, 2008

Author

Boyd Johnson
Boyd Johnson

the great and oft forgotten north of nyc. poughkeepsie., NY



About
a freak. an outlaw. a hot piece. -j.m. a hometown boy who loves the hudson, his drink, and his hat. hiding under the train tracks, with a bottle of irish moonshine, toasting to it slipping thro.. more..

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