Poetry by: PJ Carmichael

PJ Carmichael is a poet, writer, artist, adventurer, and spiritualist from Wakefield, Massachusetts. His work focuses on his interaction with and the contrast between the natural world and the urban environment. He currently runs Mass Love Distro, a multimedia production and distribution endeavor.

 

Haymarket, Flickering Lights

The trains going out

carry more bodies

than the trains coming in.

 

The station: a funeral

home of empty bladders,

growling stomachs, carnivorous

impossibilities.

 

Many languages are spoken here.

 

Faces pass like loved ones,

my broken leg remains so

like the future of yesterday.

 

(I have never felt a pain

so beautiful as the distance

of a stranger.)

 

The orange line delivers

passengers into seconds,

minutes, months,

years;

 

my heart is a blizzard

in the midst of New England.

 

 

For a Victim

The scarring of your face,

childish and deeply

visceral,

 

accentuates the feeling

of newfound grace

 

that results from watching

a distant planet’s slumber.

The beauty of heart, of

 

passionate lamentation, drives

fluid from its owner.

 

(Why must it be so)

 

I cannot explain or control

such behavior; the sun grows

inexplicably cold but remains

 

golden, as a shadow in

winter, as your timid flesh,

bold, barren, burned

 

into memory.

 

 

Abstraction

The greatest inspirations

are apathetic and abstract.

 

(Have I stopped making sense?)

 

Now you understand why

there are no heroes

and there are no idols;

now your hand can hold

a distant face.

 

(I love the way you decorate space.)

 

A monotonous existence hides

its own intensity in the face

of gun owners and peace activists.

Age and the year are just numbers.

 

The heart as an anxious bedroom:

the answer to my prayers

 

is another distraction.