Three by N. B. Turner

Punk Noir Magazine

Places I Wanted to Take A Drink

With friends,

With family.

With lovers, 

With enemies.

With God,

With the Devil.

At feast of my wedding,

At the graves of my fathers.

At the foot of the Cross

And the steps of the Church.

In the high rise bar,

And the dive on the corner.

But I always ended up

In the same place:

In my apartment, alone.

Ran From Everything

Running got me nowhere

But the shoreline of a sea of regrets:

Loves I’d had

And bitterly lost,

Chances I’d never dreamed of,

and never truly wanted.

I’d run around to make others happy, 

Ignoring my own unease.

I have attempted to please people

All my life, hoping they’d leave me alone.

Relics

In a dust-covered bible

I bought last year,

Christ’s words drip

Like blood

Across pages 

I could easily tear.

An old rosary,

Black and silver 

For the mother of sorrow,

Waits in my desk

For better days,

When I’m worthy to use it.

Red words and rosaries

Linger in my life.

I’m unable to discard those relics

Which tinkle like distant church bells.

Calling me onwards,

Calling me home.