2 Poems

By Scott Wozniak

I Hope Home Ain’t Where My Heart Is                                                    

Jail cell,
skid row
sidewalk,
dope spot—
these places
have been,
at one time
or another,
my home.

Now,
my heart
seems
to be missing.
If I left it
stranded
at one of these
prime pieces
of real estate,
I’m fucked.

The only proof
of hearts existing
at any of these spots
was when I looked
in the eyes
of residents                                                                                                                                                                
long enough
to see
sparks fade.

Not All Ignorance is Bliss  

Head tilted
toward sky,
eyes wide
and bulging,
jaw unhinged,
waiting.

It happened
almost
on command.

Like a volcano
spewing blood
and Budweiser.

Then, it was over
as suddenly
as it occurred.

He wiped his mouth
with his shirt,
rubbed the tears
from his eyes,
and mumbled,
“Damn, this ulcer
is killing me,”
then cracked
another beer
for good measure.

Scott Wozniak is a poet/chaos enthusiast. His works are widely published both online and in print. Should you care, he has 3 books available, Crumbling Utopian Pipedream (Moran Press), Killing Our Saints (Svensk Apache Press), and Ash on Your Face like Warpaint (Analog Submission Press). His 4th book, Shooting Gallery Vultures, is set for release in spring of this year through Moran Press. 



GPT-2 Writes A Letter

Slasher

0