A Globe in a Dark Room
I will save myself from myself
That fact sounds like fiction
The world is too complex to make sense
That fiction sounds like a fact
None of your novels are novel
More like how-to-guides on how to get nowhere
Stop telling me what I already know, let the chorus swing slow
Fading in and out, saying
I’m sure
I doubt
The cure’s
Not a house
Some kids
A spouse
I sit in the dark alone developing photo negatives
Into clones so when my voice reaches silence
my vocal chords can be restrung like an antique violin
I’m no virtuoso, I have no virtues and I’m virtually a hobo
Going from town to town but never moving north or south
Off track because that was how I was trained.
John Maurer is a 26-year-old writer from Pittsburgh that writes fiction, poetry, and everything in-between, but his work always strives to portray that what is true is beautiful. He has been previously published in Claudius Speaks, The Bitchin’ Kitsch, Thought Catalog, and more than sixty others. @JohnPMaurer (johnpmaurer.com)
Bindweed Magazine 