Three Poems from Matthew Borczon

My heart
 
Is a
bullet without
a gun
a rope
without
a tree
a knife
without
a sheath
it’s whiskey
without water
a dog
off its
leash
looking for
a porch
to sit
out the
rain.
My hands
 
Are birds
with burned
feathers
the devils
instrument
ten sausages
on a
vegan’s
breakfast plate
my hands
are a
spider catching
stink bugs
in its
web are
scissors
trying to
hold flowers
are grace
notes from
a smashed
violin
my hands
are skeleton
keys to
a door
I am
still looking
to open.
my eyes
 
are not
blue coyotes
not pools
of fresh
water in
Mexico
my eyes
don’t work
at night
they need
batteries
they dropped
what you
asked them
to hold
my eyes
lie in
church and
beg on
street corners
my eyes
ran away
from home
at sixteen
and have
been running
ever since.
 Bio: Matthew Borczon is a poet and writer from Erie, Pa. He has published ten books of poetry the most recent being Ghost Highway Blues through Alien Buddha press. He has been nominated for a pushcart and a best of the Net. He works as both a US Navy sailor and as a nurse for adults with developmental disabilities. He has a wife and four kids and not enough time to write.
Matt Borczon
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