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Chris Wildt

of

Bloomington, IN, US

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by

Chris Wildt

i sat at the bistro bar
scratched at the stress in
my three day unwashed hair
rubbed out frustration on
my four day unshaven face
looked across the bar into the mirror
i swallowed the rest of the glass while staring at myself
finally realized that i hadn't given up-
i was just lazy
so then to toast my newfound wisdom

i ordered another

changing philosophy

by

Chris Wildt

my fingers worked their way over
the cuts on my neck
feeling the raised flesh
scars inside and out
wondering how many times
i have hurt without showing
figuring it's more than i care to count

right now i am to the point
where i'm no longer trying to
save myself from
the world-
i am trying to save the world from me

no more room

by

Chris Wildt

an old friend
dropped back through town and
being young again
was what i wanted
unfamiliarity and distance soon gave way to laughter
then tears
the hardest part wasn't when he left-
it was sitting on the couch
with a drink in one hand
a cigarette in the other
with no room left for hope

vegas flashback

by

Chris Wildt

all i can really remember is that
purple sunsets over mount charleston
seem a lot more real when
you're 2000 miles away-

too poor to drink
too empty to write and
too lonely to care

2.21 by

Chris Wildt

there is a poem somewhere in ramen
and a friend in you
half cooked souls half empty
salty cheap nutrient rich and lonely
like dew left in mourning
in a literary apartment in a decent neighborhood
our carpet our walls my death
our jokes and our lies
looking at an aboveground magazine wishing
we were on those pages
not for ignorant notoriety
just simple validation for simple pain
cheap noodles and all this
help me deal with all the dead eyes i saw today

sage

by

Chris Wildt

you know what's good about life?

your worst day your shittiest mood
everything is going bad and
you're ready to just piss on someone
you pick out the target
slowly stride over
and then-

you see a baby or a toddler
they wave to you
you stop and look and
while he is smiling at you

you start to smile back

big break

by

Chris Wildt

sitting on the throne
reading a trade-ew
finished using toilet paper
gnawed by mother's cat
looking into the mirror
thinking what do they got that
i don't-

feeling good after that affirmation
i go back to
sitting on the couch
waiting for my big break

truly simple things

by

Chris Wildt

i believe in
truly simple things-

death and taxes
all politicans are corrupt
a beer and a smoke constitutes good living
ink stains on fingers
handwritten poems
black and white photographs
all children are too good for this
best way to go cross country is to hitch
heroin makes you scratch and sleep
the gospels according to duluoz and chinaski
sand underneath your toenails
deodorant
face the lefthander instead
milk before sleep
coffee at sunrise
loud alarm clocks
buffalo head nickels
apathy breeds ignorance
one and one make two
loyalty to a chosen few
unconditional love for one
pompadours look better than caesars
a good book
jaded teens
cynical twenties
dead thirties
money is just green paper
a piano and a whiskey voice
roughhousing with your dog
sitting on a midtown bench
pacing throughout the city
a dirty white hat
pictures in your wallet
heroes on your wall
holes in the door
scrambled eggs-cheese and tobassco
sitting in the shower
blue jeans
heavy work boots
three practice swings
movie ticket stubs
finding freedom in the washer
purple clouds atop jagged peaks
indiana cornfields
dirty aprons
dramatic good-byes
bums not businessmen
an alaskan snowmate
bad luck black cat
end of slavery
and
the old adage concerning the pen and the sword

graduation day

by

Chris Wildt

graduation day comes for us
often in strange situations
inopportune times
unethical ways
unfortunate words

few graduate with potential to change the world
some graduate with at most a nugget or three to pass on to
someone who will use it better than they did
most graduate lying on their deathbed
ranking all the regrets-

what we learn from our lives
should be our final exam but
that's not the way it works
our final exam is graded by people who
never met us
never had a drink with us
never took the time to get to know why
we lived the way we did-

we were just troublemakers-
people who just wanted to keep waters running
you never had any good ideas so
recycling the old ones made more sense
that was safe and
god forbid if the tide changed-
who wants to be dragged out
flailing wildly against
an ocean of question and original thought?

so who really changes anything?
its all the same science fair projects
with different colors different spins
but still the same damn volcano-

do you know anyone who wants to go to that school?
of course not-right?
you will say that
swear to your friends and family that
you will change the world
the day will come where
a path splits-
a fork in the road-

will you live and die for
just the chance of living
your dream or will
you take the road more traveled and
live the rest of your days already dead?

another woe is me poem

by

Chris Wildt

i am a walking calamity-
every decision i make is based on three things-
alcohol insolence and apathy
you want to talk about mood swings?
a charter member of moodiness hall of fame
acknowledged in the first chapter in the bipolar bible
i can't remember the last time i made a rational judgement
the epitome of contradiction
which is rather amusing because
i find people drawn to me in the strangest ways
of course i disdain-
everywhere i turn
my past is haunting me
disregarding any future i could possibly have
i find it ironic that some men want to be me
and all women want to fix me since
i don't anymore
i can't even bear to look at myself in the mirror-
the only time i'm glad to be alive is when
i see my brother or
remember her

my own way (for taylor)

by

Chris Wildt

forty one days until
you're just a memory
your postcard will read
Hamburg or bust
i'll receive it in my
3x5 mailbox
look out over
the peeling paint balcony
knock the years from
my suddenly heavy
black boots
take that last glance
knowing it was all worth it
slide my arms into my jacket
bend down
grab my dusty duffel
and lean on myself
for a change

revelation in a college town

by

Chris Wildt

you know why heroes become legends?
they die-"so much promise
why did they have to die . . . "

you know what happens to those
who don't die?
they become telemarketers
or garbagemen
or accountants
who try to save the world
one deduction at a time-

so what's the difference?
the answer is your age at death

if i died tonight at 24
i'd be an icon
a legend

my luck
i'll live to be 103-
just a old cranky great grandpa
who never knew what
changing the world felt like

ko

by

Chris Wildt

where i'm from
you fought with your fists and feet
until someone's father stopped it
made you shake hands

i never shook
a winning hand
i never lost a fight
in my youth

so i became more brave
challenging two then three at a time
until i found myself
face down watching
my blood pool around
my head

then i knew what all
those poor bastards had felt
and retired

pigeon

by

Chris Wildt

went on the porch to smoke
again
cloudless sky
lit by stars
few planets-
frightened by a pigeon who perched overhead
overlooking a possible second chance
for us both

roleplaying

by

Chris Wildt

read C.B. again
received that familiar warm feeling
the same as
a Seagrams seven short

thought something would happen now
but it never does
so i made the others believe
it was around the corner
waiting for me to find it- or it
to find me