Autopsy
In a cold, white room
With fluorescent ceiling lights
And sterile floor tiles,
I watch a Y press into
My chest, T-ed shoulders.
My skin is unpeeled, rooled like
A papyrus scroll,
And my internal organs
Are exposed—then unraveled.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Syzygy
I recognized you
In a dream, or was it you?
Could you possibly
Invade my subconscious mind,
Hidden underneath
The dark sheets of night and self?
Could you, more simply,
Be the shadow's projection—
Fascination when there is none?
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Thaw
The rain falls, washing
The soft, downy snow away.
The white ground covers
In gray and swampy puddles.
A chill of an air
Wisps across the thawing land,
Blowing the silence
To the wayside. My window
Soaks, flushed by a tapping stream.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Eyes in the Darkness
Eyes in the darkness
Dilate to look beyond
The shadows that bathe
The surfaces that surround
Them. Blindness provides
A deeper reason to see.
When the light is found,
The pupils shrink to pin-points
Swallowed in a vein-cracked white.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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The Memorized Body
Who you are, your shape—
The construct of your body—
Is breaking apart,
Becoming a bunch of flakes
Each and ev'ry day.
Your skin will replace itself
Slowly—cell by cell.
In time, this you that you are
Will vanish for the next you.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Flat Characterization
Oftentimes, people
Ask other people how they
Are doing in order
To discuss what they're doing.
They won't care about
What you're saying, or your thoughts
Because, in their minds,
You're a reason for response.
Some people need attention.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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The Englishman's Historical Wristwatch
Some men have no thoughts.
They read the books others read;
They wear the same clothes;
And they mimic mannerisms.
Ev'ry behavior
Is borrowed from another,
But for what reason?
To try and please someone else?
To try and be someone else?
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Haze Machine
Like glycerine and water
becoming the haunting, gray
wisps of ephemera—
in the shadows
that the air has
recklessly clasped—
in the piceous sea
that curbs
the ruching horizon—
we are coetaneously
drifting where
the wind remains.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Dentistry
They can correct your
Discolored, coffee-stained teeth.
They can realign
Them when they are crooked,
Slightly out of place,
Jutting from below your lips.
They can readjust
Your smile, so you can receive
Compliments. You feel so bad,
Don't you?
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Anger Shot Toward Heaven
A simmering storm
In my soul, swelling with rage—
A shallow sadness
Veiled by the clouds of passion—
Disembogues itself,
Drenching the dry vagaries
Of my mind, so parched
Through the steam and pouring rain,
Approached where the cold wind comes.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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