Poems
by Tohm Bakelas

 

a poem for me 

 

lacking inspiration  

lacking influence  

lacking money 

lacking feeling 

lacking sight 

lacking heart 

lacking time  

 

lacking, lacking 

 

lacking suffering  

lacking pain 

lacking excitement 

lacking articulation  

lacking ambition 

lacking drive  

lacking life 

 

lacking, lacking, lacking,  

lacking, lacking, 

lacking… 

 

GUILTY. 

 

 

 

 

 

detritus

for jeff maser 

 

i obsess over missing mail packages, 

refresh the tracking page 100 times a day, 

wondering where it is? how’d it get lost? 

jersey city is only 45 minutes from denville, 

why didn’t they call me up? 

 

“yeah, uhh, hi, mr. bakelas?” 

 

“yes that’s me” 

 

“listen this is duncan over at the jersey city  

distribution center, we got those books you  

bought from jeff maser, why don’t you swing  

on down and pick ‘em up? you just mention  

ole duncan’s name and you’ll get ‘em in a jiffy!” 

 

“shit man, that’s great i’m on my way” 

 

but that’s not how it happens,  

that’s never how it happens 

 

the books travel to an unknown dimension, 

through regions not yet discovered in new jersey,  

before arriving into my hands 10 to 15 days late 

 

and when i tear open the package and hold the  

books in my hands, i can hear all the duncans 

of the world shouting: “just be thankful it even arrived!” 

 

and i’ll sit down with my new books, 

look at them, stack them with the rest,  

walk away, and leave them for another day 

 

 

 

 

 

stone masons 

  

the masons pound stones  

into patios with hammers   

that have names i’ll  

never know—  

 

their hands become the hammers,   

the stones become their life.   

  

i drive by knowing nothing   

of their way, wishing  

i could comprehend   

the work they  

undertake, 

 

yet i comfortably walk amongst  

violence and madness in a state  

psychiatric hospital with locked 

doors and locked wards. 

  

and i suppose that’s the way it goes,   

the man with the inept hands  

wishes for working hands  

while the man with the inept mind  

wishes for a working mind.   

 

perhaps i am overreaching.   

 

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