this is the house where blood brothers
sneak wrinkled notes to blood sisters
……….. theories about escape
………… tips on playing dead
information is valuable
the rattle of keys
precedes thin scrapes of dirty bowls
famished for filthy scraps
the girl belonging to the baritone whisper
is rumored to be blonde
blue-eyed and sure to be sold soon
gossip spreads about whipping posts
and thick chains
i’ve been here long enough for dreams
to end their torture
home is no longer
the song of false waking
jennifer e-mailed me every day
for three weeks
encouraged me to play the guitar
dye my hair
my fantasy, a rock-star virgin
we would meet in a cheap motel
tucked behind the train depot
i remember drinking beer and laughing
admiring jennifer’s smooth thighs
she smeared me with caramel lipstick
and then i got dizzy
awoke to chains, murky water
and the tormented volume of whispers
i hear a rattle of keys
envision a pretty blonde
with a baritone whisper
being led from the darkness on a leash
i am waiting also
for someone to take me home
a word meaning suffer
After performing for years, as both a musician and poet, in and around the Boston area, Derek Richards has recently decided to begin submitting his work for publication. So far he has been accepted for publication in Ghoti Magazine, Lung, MediaVirus, Word Riot, Right Hand Pointing, Tinfoildresses, The Legendary, Breadcrumb Scabs, Shoots and Vines, Cantaraville, Soundzine and The Centrifugal Eye. His poetry aims to be direct and honest, brilliant and lucrative. He is currently residing in Gloucester, Mass., happily engaged and cleaning windows for a living.
© 2010, Derek Richards
Halfway Down the Stairs 