One for the Kids
I was your age
When I decided
I’d had enough
I was tired
So, I turned off
The television
Ate a bottle of Valium
And waited
I was so tired
And when I woke up
I was in the ICU
With an endotracheal tube
Shoved down my throat
A Foley catheter
Inserted into my bladder
And an immense
Feeling of gratitude
That I had not
Been conscious
For any of it
And an even greater
Feeling of sadness
That I was still alive
And that my mother
Would have to explain
To her physician
Why she needed
An early refill
David Burdett
5/17/2024
Inconsistent
Write.
Typically on paper with a pen or a pencil, mark down the days passing of my youth. Letters words symbols that last a life time tell of my life time in moments.
Come with me to far away lands where we can be alone together but always near. Where fogy dreams and vivid memories become unwound a mess but clear.
Flea with me on a trip that only one’s mind eye can see, bathed in the wilderness and don't worry about the don’ts won’ts could haves and never has beens.
“Your heart is free have the courage to follow it“
Awaken to today‘s yesterdays tomorrow. Let me fill your head with images of what can but will never be where men touch angels and fire meet ice such, is such contradictory.
Tonight I enter the town of my rebirth.
I want to be ready.
Foursquare Nightmare
As a kid
I lived next door
To a Pentecostal
Foursquare church
My grandmother taught
Sunday school there
Which meant
I was required to attend
Maybe there is a God?
Because in between
The convulsing
On the floor
Speaking
In tongues
And rampant
Pedophilia
It’s a miracle
That I didn’t
Turn out
More fucked-up
Than I am
David Burdett
5/16/2024
Social injustice
Alone.
Always alone. Peculiar in nature my heart yearns to always be alone.
Particularly from other humans, for most are a distraction from allowing me to ponder life.
Yes my heart wishes to travel to empty spaces and planes of nothingness, where people no longer venture, and not even eagles dare to sore.
Alone floating among beautiful waters. You will find me bathing in sun light naked unafraid of wondering eyes nothing to fear but days end.
Alone. My heart yearns to be alone.
Leave me at the mercy of your pity for I am only in good company when no one is near.
Allow me leave from this social machine on the conveyor belt of totalitarian society they call life.
Brain washed into wanting nothing more but to own a piece of land while they sell you manufactured water and bottled air.
Oh, ALOOOONE!
My heart yearns to be alone.
Sunday Brunch
Groups of people pile into little booths.
So tight they can't move without bumping into eachother.
Pervasive odors overpower the room.
Her perfume and his deodorant.
Grilled fish, pancake syrup,
And steamy dishsoap.
Conversations overlap,
A collision of voices.
Mouths smack open and close,
Slurping and crunching between words.
Teeth tear into bits of meat and flesh.
The continuous clatter of utensils,
It's coming,
It always does.
The searing screech.
How they drag and scrape metal against ceramic.
I feel it in my teeth,
Under my skin,
My face,
It burns.
Look normal,
Look normal,
Look normal.
All the eyes,
Fixated on me.
"Hi there. What can I get you?"
Fresh ink and new blood, and more: Amount of strength, honeyed earth, a muted past, seasons, and screams of the dying.
Some new blood and fresh ink flavor Prose. Radio's number 37, with a handful plus two pieces from the inimitable talent of our writers. Good to see all the new writers bringing their style to pages of Prose. --And also good to see Last and area_man in the mix with them today, and AndyDrew closing it out with something beautiful and dark and light, in its own way.
Here's the link to the show.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E5iHmKR3IOg
And here are the pieces featured.
https://www.theprose.com/post/816003/christ-like-without-the-benefits https://www.theprose.com/post/815932/lake https://www.theprose.com/post/815971/back-and-forth
https://www.theprose.com/post/815979/the-watch https://www.theprose.com/post/815993/space-age-bodhisattva https://www.theprose.com/post/815994/seasons
https://www.theprose.com/post/815920/wee-woo-bus
And.
As always...
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
Hirquiticke
Hirquiticke
May 15, 2024
“One past fourteen yeeres of age, beginning to bee moved with Venus delight” - Henry Cockeram, An English Dictionary, 1623
I just finished reading, “Venus and Adonis” by William Shakespeare.
I will now commit the poem to memory.
Sheila was my park. I was her deer. We both just turned 17.
This meant nothing but trouble (at the time). But forty years later, this was only a pleasant memory. She wanted me to read her D. H. Lawrence novels. I only wanted the Cliff Notes version.
She told me she found patience sexy. Very sexy.
Under such pressure, I acquiesced. I am so glad I did.
Next came Henry Miller’s, “Tropic of Cancer”. Sheila became Tania. I, indeed, made her ovaries incandescent.
By the onset of our senior year, I discovered, “Fanny Hill.” Then Sheila discovered, “Fanny Hill.” Then, her father discovered what we had both discovered.
By Thanksgiving, we were banned from seeing each other. By Christmas, her family had moved to where good girls go to reaffirm their princess status and reacquire their virginity from the gossips who know too much. In essence, somewhere far, far, away.
When I see a copy of these novels, or a couple sharing their serendipitous delight in exploring where the rest of us have traversed, I think of Sheila.
And my love of the richness of the English language to elevate the mundane to elegant elevations.