Maxwell Ames Poems

you can't feel sorry and wallow in waters of misery
because you lacked a linear view of what would transpire
you stood in the center of everything so hard
that you'll be ok.
...

I breath the wind
pulling to and from on the trees outside of my room
they look like bows, playing the taught strings of telephone wire
and the clouds scroll by like music on player pianos
...

water's draping itself down the front of a window pane in winter, sounds like a full bucket taking drunken swings at the glass, with its solid transparency, known to have an extremely low viscosity the surface for the liquid to embrace against like a parisian woman standing in the metro stall;

a man sleeping, smiling, doing the silent slow struggle of blanket and bed, stuck between him the sheets. he's smiling and crying in his sleep. the window shudders under the affection of the thunder and the frame rattling. Incessantly buzzing, the sound waves and wind blown ones of mist make the small bedroom vibrate like a rubber band orchestra, and the man stretches on break between the sandwich-like repose of the mattress, and slinks into a parabola in the twisted cloth.
...

Questions are ineffective at bringing answers, more questions.
Answers end conversations. So how is the balance established
in conversations between two people?
Is this balanced established between two people?
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I can't remember the last time a chemical wasn't in my body,
because the only way I can get through a day with grotesque distractions is
to pull these actions from my brain
...

Where am I going to go when I get out of my room, and who am I going to see on the street,

the people just walk bye, and sometimes I catch an eye, so what is happening in my bedroom?
...