RIPPED
Worn at the bone,
A stop-motion phrase
Of torn tendon, broken heart
Beneath the avalanche of hours
Where the arms stretch
Ticking away
All thought of grace
Beneath the useful, uselessness,
Spinning
On the same stain
Where the tongue
Clips the same old phrases,
The battery of the brain
Caught in a holding pattern
That empty rotation
Where nothing
Changes,
We are as still life
Caught in the agony of
Frozen rain,
So busy
Forgetting ourselves
That time has no choice
But to agree.
Jonathan Douglas Dowdle was born in Nashua, NH and has traveled throughout the US, he currently resides in South Carolina. Previous works have appeared or are appearing in: The Opiate, whimperbang, Visitant, Adelaide, Blue Moon, Bitchin’ Kitsch, Mojave He(art), Vox Poetica, HCE Review, The Big Windows Review, Literary Heist, Hobo Camp Review, The Write Place At The Write Time, Modern Poetry, and various other magazines.