This is the Limit
This is the frontier of you old men
of you shifting
on your bar chair your swinging doors of an old saloon
that you’ve only heard of in dreams in film
The America you Wished for gave
you lottery tickets
and freshly packed black and mild tobacco the
register to sell it and the back room
to sleep
If you don’t
turn on your light
they may steal
it from you.
those wild eyed dreamers of the frontier
You can’t sleep without it
Coming to Commute
He walked to Pennsylvania hitched the bus to
New Jersey, and finally after he bit his
nails and combed his hair he jumped off the roof
I sipped my coffee on the balcony and the body
looked like the beginning of a migraine
“Come out here
you bastard,” he said.
“I’ve never wanted it more.”
Going to Yellow Eye
He’s a tough being out in January
for many days many years
And if possibly
run over by
a car
he will crawl
back and build
his ripped muscles he may not cry
but once, when cold bath water
touches the face the nose
Through the cold
the cat comes once again
I won’t forget
Peter Humphreys currently resides in Syracuse, New York. He is presently attending SUNY Oswego, studying finance and investing at the undergraduate level. His poems will be featured in the upcoming issue of Nine Mile Literary Magazine.