Fall/Winter 2015 ~ Poetry
Liam C. Calhoun is an English teacher at the Guangdong Teachers College of Foreign Language and Art after a quasi-long career of wanderings, mishaps and wanderings more. His recent poems have appeared in A Brilliant Record, Down in the Dirt, The Stray Branch and the collection books 100 Words, After Apocalypse, Bleeding Heart Cadaver, Don’t Forget It, Falling, Literary Town Hall and Purpose.
Déjà vu’s dusk and certain glooms persist,
When I’m drunk,
A foul whiskey
And come closing, with a hand outstretched,
Scouting for safe or surface ,
Any guide or lane away from yearning.
But I do and I want;
I thirst for a tap atop pale palm
And not come my own claw;
But rather the benign I once remembered,
Now “retrievable,” in only dream,
Confined to only dream
It’s when I stub my most remote of toes,
That I realize –
Blood stains white carpets,
I’ve had too much to drink
And have once again forgotten
My way to rejection, ejection and the bathroom.
In desolation conglomerate lethargy
I make my way towards slumber,
Coma’d on my crimson carpet,
Curled into a little ball, afraid like abandoned cats
And lesser the enthusiastic for morning,
Quite the opposite a child and more so the escapist.