if i ever make it i’m not sure how i’ll take it – will i find myself humble magnanimous gracious in victory or perhaps flaunt my good fortune sinking sparkling silver knives and forks into prime cuts of only the most savory meats tossing scraps into the bowls of mangy mongrels who scorned me –…
Author: Mitchell Chmielewski
Second Stage – A Hybrid Cento
we watch and we are always here – fog everywhere. fog up the river, where it flows among green aits and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping, and the waterside pollutions of a great (and dirty) city. darkness gathers all around. As the streetlights by the river…
At Least
she messaged me for awhile but i guess she lost interest in me a sharp pain explodes in my chest however briefly replaced soon with numbness i don’t know if it’s more of shame or disappointment of bleeding heart or bruised ego wounded pride turns to cool indifference and the heat in my cheeks fades…
Filthy God – A Hybrid Cento
she didn’t have time to suffer, or even to grieve, each time he’d thrust his organ deeply into her, her face had distorted. each time he did so, the squeals turned to something like sobs. the small hole in the pink that peeked out between the lips of her vagina would remain open at those…
Flesh and Desire – A Cento
dear doll made soft fleshy marionette in the window, dancing don’t display what people desire recognize beauty and ugliness is born let thy actions then be pure, free from the bonds of desire. – thy birth was after the birth of the sun: the birth of the sun was before thine. my darling, my darkening…
Living Hell
circling the drain caught in the loop of a vicious cycle drowning in a stream of filth sullied by an unyielding torrent – she drinks in a living room alone in fraying pajama pants t-shirts too big on her bony frame wiry hair she washes only when she manages to drag herself out nursing the…
Snapshots of a Small Town
shore leave on sunday local priest smirks condescendingly dark knowledge spilling out over the rim of that pristine white collar. – watch that boy ducking into the cracks in the wall wife alone and desperate for a taste of something new stirring the pot with a thick wooden spoon until hubby gets home. dinner’s ready….
Forged in Fire
one may find in their life sorrow looms we trudge on stoic gaunt resilient forged in fire strengthened through our struggles
Changing Face
hear the rain falling weary tonight spattering against the dry planks gorging swelling in delight oxidation staining blackening tannins ebonizing transforming changing face
First Book Published
This collection of early poems from the blog has just been published on Amazon and is available as an eBook at this time! The book is able to be read for free, shared, and purchased for a modest price if desired. Paperback copies will be available in the near future. Please feel free to check…
Piecework Prose 