Three Poems from Dan Provost

Dan Provost, Poetry, Punk Noir Magazine
Mental Health Year
Shelved for
the foreseeable
Ideas are strange—something
hits me off course…
–I bleed.
 Fret irregular and witness
 frowned eyebrows when I dare
 say anything…
Dream big
Die bigger…
Of course, I want
to know if this will
be my destiny…
Saddle stamped
worn down…
Chimes w/ a beggars
Invisible answers.
–“go the fuck away.”
New Digital Camera
Try to contort
your face to the
It has been set
to infinite pause…
So, the grimace
will never leave.
Just the image I want…
Just the image that inherits pain.
Now we are in unison
to bleed with the earth
Old Henry Escorts Me Off the Edge Sometimes
Promises the Dream Song dared to make
were trying to hinder my appetite for
immature closure—dire steps were
needed to be taken as I endured
another season of debating whether
to leave the house.
My wife is very patient with me.
Helps me to care for my own devices.
Takes into consideration that Henry would
convince me to put a fiver in the juke to
play some David Gilmour and the rest of the
She knows Henry is some sort of distorted
creep, but, bless her heart, puts up with him.
I guess, somedays he keeps me alive…
Persuades me that penance is only
for the asking…
Not the taking of
some cheap romance tale
of sympathy.
–From Dan’s latest book, Under the Influence of Nothingness