HEATH BROUGHER

 

HEATH BROUGHER

 

If Not Invisible

 

If poems were not invisible

I bet you I could write one

that was, at best,

half decent.

 

Portions

 

1.

The carnie’s rife and raggedy voice

with such bellicose volume

that it muffled all rhyme and reason

and replaced it with the grating of sheer stupidity.

 

2.

My warning

meant nothing...

yet...that is.

Yet!

 

3.

These days the mice

are so skinnytoothed and starved

they grasp through the chaos

not for food but for the slightest sip

from the omnipresent toxic puddles.

 

4.

I’m not

until I

am.

 

Then, I’m

not

again

until I 

reconstitute

and become

the sentient

creature you

have all

been falsely

led to

believe exists.

 

5.

Do not

believe the Truth.

For it has grown hollow

with the passage of time.

 

The Sleepy States of America

 

Why doesn't

anyone ever

wake up?

 

 

 

Eternity

 

    An hourglass filled

        with marbles

          instead of

              sand

         would spell

       out eternity, an

endless life-force, endless!

 

 

Yesterday’s Epiphany

 

Until yesterday the origins

of human awareness,

human essence itself,

were seen, at best,

through a thick,

fog-ridden peach fuzz.

 

As of a couple hours ago,

the stealthy staples of science

have cut eyeholes through that blear

and a new shade of light has birthed

upon this Sentient planet.

 

HEATH BROUGHER

 

HEATH BROUGHER is the Editor-in-Chief of Concrete Mist Press as well as poetry editor of Into the Void, winner of the 2017 and 2018 Saboteur Awards for Best Magazine. A multiple Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net Nominee, he was the recipient of Taj Mahal Review’s Poet of the Year Award in 2018. He is the recent winner of the 2020 Wakefield Prize for Poetry and is slowly starting to wade back into the world of focusing on his own work, with his 11th book “Where Hammers Dwell” due out later this year.