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D. L. Barnes


Princeton Junction, NJ, US

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D. L. Barnes

Gone is the Kafka like prose
Legs turning purple
Dead before dying
Fingers blue
Waiting for the rest of the body
To realize
Panting breaths
Diaphragm no longer elastic
Drowning in one’s self
Waiting for the guardian angel
To rescue
And the banshee’s wail
Three knocks to
Signify the end
Of suffering
The tether holding soul
To body
Cut by invisible hand
No longer mere existence
A closer step beyond

Orion's Belt


D. L. Barnes

Nocturnal emissions arose from the region
Of Orion’s Belt
Dripping through the black satin sky
With the rhinestones
Is that why they call it the Milky Way?

Beguiled by the communal vision
I lay on my back
Soft wool blanket
Staring into the abyss of sky, dark & night
Not seeing where the canyon ends
And horizon begins

Adjusting a velour halo and
Soft diaphanous wings
I stare off into the night sky
As it turns to pink
And watch daylight
Try to break through the
Ebony stranglehold

Post Script


D. L. Barnes

I repeat my mantra daily
Trying to convince myself
Of things I necessarily don’t believe
But I know I should
People tell me how incredibly strong I am
How brave
That I should be admired
Like a freak in a sideshow
Oh look she’s a survivor
I’m too hurt to be angry yet
I feel as if one thousand razor blades pulsating in key veins
Ever so slightly
With surgical precision
Cutting muscles and nerve tissues
I wish I could no longer feel
I want to be numb
Remove my memories
All I feel is pain
Is this all I can accomplish
This amount of gross neglect
I feel insane
Like the homeless people in the subway
Mumbling to themselves
I mumble to myself too
I see visions
Of red and black
Blazing across a vacant canvas
A virtual wasteland
Prayers go unanswered
Phone calls and letters as well
I am mired
In the quicksand of another’s making
This was not my choice
I was not actively involved
In this decision
Not proactive, reactive or active
But I was damned to hell
For the sins of someone else.