Greg and Jim

I could see that the man standing in the corner of the room looking out the window was new. He looked a little out of place so I walked on over to him to say hello.

"Hey, there." I said.

"Hello."

"I'm Greg, Greg Hahn. I worked for American Airlines for 23 years before I came here."

He didn't seem to appreciate the small talk, but I didn't care.

"It's not so bad, once you're here for a while. You get used to it."

"I don't think I ever will." He told me.

"What's your name?"

"James Keller. My friends called me Jim. My mother was really the only one who called me James."

"Well alright, Jim. I'm not bugging you just because there's really nothing else to do... It's just I remember what it feels like to be new here and I hated it. I hated the smell, I hated the people, I..." He interrupted me.

"That's great, but could ya leave me alone for a little while, I'm kind of getting used to this whole, being dead, thing."

"Sure Jim, no problem."

I walked back over to where I was standing before and picked up the same fucking Time Magazine I had been reading for 57 years. The cover story was about global warming. I didn't give two shits anymore about climate change, and the sad polar bear on the cover didn't make me feel any more sympathetic. You know, you'd think they would have come up with a better system for purgatory, but they haven't. It's just sit, and wait for your name to be called. Jim didn't move for two and a half weeks. When he did move, it was to smash a fly that had landed on the glass in front of him. I wish he would have killed me instead. Maybe it would have sent me back to earth. The damn noises all around me didn't stop. Tick, tock, clip, plop, drip, all fucking day. The only thing I could do was sit, and watch people. I decided to try my chances with Jim again.

"What'er you up to man?"

"Same thing you're up to man."

I didn't like his attitude, so I ripped the front pocket of of his shirt.

"WHAT THE HELL!" He yelled.

I walked away as if nothing had even happened. I could tell he was looking at me. I didn't care, the guy was a dick. As soon as I got back to my original standing spot, the door opened, and a fat, sweaty nurse came pouring out like pancake batter.

"James Keller. You're up."

Jim had stood in that spot for three weeks, and his name was called. My feet had been planted for 57 years. I'm still here. I am still fucking here.

40.

What is it about dirt,

that just makes me happy?

Society

I can clearly see the buffalo roam,

on the grasslands they graze.

Sinking into the flood,

the one of which they once fled.

Their territory murdered,

and scattered throughout the land.

Making it hard for the mothers,

hard for them to take the hands

of the little ones drowning,

drowning in their own blood.

The hearts of the old beating faster then ever,

and the beautiful ones no longer held that glamour,

no longer held their stride.

Those who were worthy were killed,

those who were less fortunate were raped,

and ripped from the inside out,

blood from their stomach, spilling out,

soaking the ground, leaving the dry grass red.

The wolves chewed on the intestines,

tugging on them like rope,

tearing them apart like paper,

leaving puddles of blood on each others backs.

Yelps and growls sounded all around

and yet the noise could not be heard.

The old hearts no longer had a beat,

the young were too tattered,

the beautiful were gutted and pillaged,

and the world looked on with hope,

saying those words that were heard forever,

saying those words that will never be forgotten.

And I can see them now,

roaming around,

waiting for it to happen again.

The warmth rolls in,

the cool dies out,

its been a while, the wind, the cold cold wind

tearing apart, not only me.

The sun moves from behind cloud eight and cloud nine becomes visible.

I can feel it, the heat, the air, the fun.

I can feel the way it once was.

Thursday

Until death, I am life.

Until pain, I am Strength.

Until thirst, I am full.

Until Tomorrow, It is today.

mindless

There is no criticism of which can be traded from mine to yours but if you so truly insist, I will gladly create meaning for this disaster you've placed in my hands and in yours. This disease and this careless ambition that drags me through the streets and cries out my name until I run toward it and grab its leash has set to flame the desire I have for burdening others with their problems and creating new ones for myself.

New Weather

As the wind blows through the tips of my hair

I am hesitant to remember why I was ever there.

Why my feelings were dark and my heart was cold,

and why my love for happiness seemed so old.

As the sun beats down on my naked chest

I erase my thoughts but remember the rest

of my time here on earth,

is not meant to lose worth.

It is golden and and thriving

from my death to my birth.