Just Wondering

Sit,
take a load off,
I was wondering,
do you know me?
No of course not,
I mistook you for
someone
else.

But your air,
it's intoxicating,
surely you know
that?

Are those your real

eyes?

Yes, of course,
strange question
I know,
but I was
Just wondering.

Your voice,
do I hear
that raspiness
correctly?
it's beautiful.

just one more thing
before
you leave,

where did my love
for you die?
sorry,
but I'm still
wondering

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved

Let Me Be

Let me Be
the rock,
or the river,
just
let me be.

I stand here
each night
wasting
my colours,
washing my
shattered being
in saltine
crumbled crackers,
waiting for
whatever.

Let me be
the ocean,
or the beach,
just
let me be.

I stumble
through constant
vermiculite horror,
confabulating
with my
eggs benedict
about what, or when,
is the best time,
or idea.

Let me be
the fork,
or the ketchup,
just
let me be.

I fall
into muddled
thoughts,
trip into
soggy memories,
and die
at the feet
of my dream like
dungeon.

So please,
just
Let me be.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved 

My inner demon

I sit pensive in my lair
avoiding the glare of the sun
for it blinds me,
lurking in the shadows
waiting for the moon
to reveal its pale face,
and stars to pinpoint
digits and appendages
of unsuspecting souls
that I feed upon,
once my door opens
the trap has been sprung,
my razor teeth take hold
tearing flesh, ripping tendons,
my tongue squeezing into
arteries and veins
drinking deep of their life-blood,
claws digging into bone,
mouth slavering for marrow,
becoming one with their being,
leaving a part of me
inside them but taking
their memory of me,
leaving them as my servant,
bringing the unsuspecting,
leading those blind
to my existence,
I lay in comfort
knowing that I will
meet my next victim
all too soon

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved 

White Coats

The pungent aroma of potpourri permeates,
Seeping into the pores of the pine table.
You'll never get the smell out.

Manila like magazine pages masticated,
What I would imagine prehistoric papyrus to look like.
The creases will never flatten.

The lumpy chairs bunched up in rows
Along the wall with their vinyl covered cushions.
You'll never get comfortable.

Those who are conscious are confabulating in the corners,
Peering over their perfectly folded newspapers.
You'll never figure out what's wrong with me.

Seventies style shag carpet,
Without the languid wagging of a dogs tail.
I have to get out of here.

A white coat suspended over the shoulders,
The neck adorned with spy technology of some sort.
I don't know you; let me out of here.

Trapped in the Dungeon of modern day,
With torturous devices and the fresh smell of alcohol.
I can't escape.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved

Running away with it

The ball sat watching me then
it spoke to me,
"Take me away, my friend"
The laces fit snugly in my hand,
arm cradled around my precious,
feet keeping time like
thundering hooves,
fast as a cheetah I sprint
past drop-jawed onlookers,
weaving my way into and out of
crowds trying to stop me.
I collapse,
exhausted in the end-zone,
famished past the finish line,
yet triumphant through the ticker tape.
now you just have to try and catch me 
next time.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved