Justin Reynolds

exercising the demon

my heart gets kicked
halfway across the continent
but somehow still hangs
in my chest
like mary surratt,
july 1865.
the demon in my brain tells me
i can’t do this no more.
there are easier outs,
motherfucker says.
i light a match off his chin
grab a smoke
from his soul
& figure
i couldn’t be more curious
to see
what beautiful disasters
will befall we all
i want to learn
i want to sweat
i want to slay perennial distractions
which seem to spawn endlessly
before these eyes
these my eyes
these my eyes
which appear
to lose focus
by the breath
& are irritated
by even
the slightest
speck of dust.
i cast a line
across the mountains
to fetch that shit back
& when the iron hook
pierces it
i count my blessing
on one finger
still so happy
i can feel pain
& time
i am alive.

Justin Reynolds, 28, gets paid to construct news stories in the more fabulously well-to-do woods of Connecticut. He's authored three chapbooks: up against the firing squad (writing knights press, 2012), this just this (dog on a chain press, 2011) and skinning the hero (dog on a chain press, 2009). his work has also appeared in xanadu (long island poetry collective) and gutter eloquence magazine, in addition to being enshrined on the walls of women across the universe.

1 comment:

  1. A word of thanks. These lines move & cause me to want to get up and run along with them. They also cause recognitions and implications (ie, they implicate the reader). Nice work.


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