The Screaming Sheep

 

                                                                                                                                               

Want suffocated Need the moment

 

 

               it walked through the door

 

 

Held a pillow over its pious face

 

 

But you have a scar I want to trace

 

               with my tongue

     

                               and I have a way

 

with words that furrows your brow

 

 

                             You know what I want:

 

the resemblance of coherence

 

                               You know what I get:

 

a blueprint, a general idea

 

 

Yes, I shade the rest in myself

 

John Findura

John Findura holds an MFA from The New School and is currently completing his professional license in psychotherapy. His poetry and criticism appear in numerous journals including Verse; Fourteen Hills; Copper Nickel; Pleiades; Forklift, Ohio; H_NGM_N; Jacket; and Rain Taxi. A guest blogger for the The Best American Poetry, he has won and been a finalist for various awards. He lives in Northern New Jersey with his wife and daughters.

I would rip myself open in your bed

 

if that is how you read the cards

 

 

You asked for an elegant dinner

 

in an old NYC hotel and a room

 

with heavy curtains and a marble bath

 

 

You wanted excitement of the highest

 

order with an expensive dash of class

 

 

So that is what I gave you: a manic

 

episode in a finely tailored suit

 

 

We walked shakily down the carpeted

 

hallway, putting our fingers to our lips

 

in an increasingly unlikely call for quiet

 

 

Neither of us said it, but we both thought

 

If only I could do the things I need to do

Tattoo (Deck of Cards)