Kevin R. Farrell, Jr. is an artist, poet, and educator whose work has been published in Terror House Magazine, Former People, Indiana Voice Journal, Blakelight Magazine, and Ink In Thirds Magazine, and attempts to capture life from the vantage point of someone in the backseat of a stolen car running on fumes. His poems are a play on words in the form of political, satirical, surrealist, tongue in cheek rants that often border on stream of consciousness ramblings that are a last ditch effort at taking it all in before we get taken out.
Is Poetry Not Dead?
There’s a bottomless pit
where aspirations wreck like ships.
Tangled in safety nets,
wrapped up in a symbiotic milieu.
Ground-hogged in the pursuit
of a cold case of the deepest blues.
The ripple effect of rejection letters
have crashed wavelengths into unsure lines,
cross referenced by fair-weather friends;
ideas beach themselves and bloat.
A dull pencil pokes a hole in the carcass
spilling forth an ambiguous vernacular.
Stuck between rock bottoms and straight edge razors,
I built that ship inside of a bottle just to watch it wreck.
Carved my initials into the underside of the plank
with a cocktail pick.
Carved myself into your life
just to cut myself out.
There’s now a glory hole in your chest
and you’re stranded at a truck stop in purgatory.
No need to pry,
you’re always open
There’s a right way to live
and we’ve got it wrong.
We’ll unapologetically burn the pages
of a never to be released
of randomly displaced words and phrases.
What inspires aspiring failures?
Struggling creatives well-versed in denial.
It’s the beat going on that plaques
our voyage around the sun.
Swept out to be seen
yet never read.