meager violence

“I’ve seen that things find their void when they search for direction.” - Federico Garcia Lorca

photos by Jay Halsey

i woke up today. the Earth was dry windblown and brittle. cars in parking lots reduced to dust-covered, monochromatic shapes.

glaciers did not melt.

evaporation was the new trend.

creeks became thirsty.

rivers no longer flowed.

the great basins and reservoirs formed enormous scabs:

land bridges for emaciated minds; congregations of narrow-eyed mosquitoes lapped at delicate coffees.

robots of convention declared absolutely, “300 days of sunshine a year!” amidst a record-breaking drought.

all vermin thrived with no place left to drown. and everything was the same as yesterday.

words and photos by Jay Halsey

needle eyes in the

strange cracks of a slow

yellow morning.

i’m off to destroy

everything tasteful and sane.

last night delivered more flashes of

easy bombs that never happened

and never will.

I think of you,

the man of men and mothers,

resting still and quiet

in the seams of worms and fossils

for a month now,

knowing so much more

than I do

and even more than

you did before.

curb litter fades 

beneath a carbon sun,

and the slow drip

of the bathroom sink

keeps time.

the cottonwoods weep

the creeks weep

the stray cats weep,

as do the crows

and mountains,

and finally everything

weeps.

I don’t. 

words and photos by Jay Halsey

off moments settle

like feathers in the pale dusk.

the quiet, forsaken ones whisper

secrets of lingering discontent.

too often taken for granted,

these shallow pauses are more immense

than the mightiest coyote’s thirst.

she stops to revel

at a shrinking rain puddle

in a deserted west Texas parking lot.

a loitering mosquito swells,

and the house wins again.

words and photos by Jay Halsey

sitting here, meek, without expectation, or scorn. or anything.

just sitting here, tuning into distant thunder rolling across the distant mountains, as dead leaves like callus on gauze scratch across the open blacktop. as cockroaches float down the tire-splashed gutters carrying forever.

i am reminded of nothing, and am moved by nothing,

but feel as though i should be.

sitting here, and for one sharp breath, like a flash of lightning in the black root of things,

the untiring traffic breaks just long enough to realize that malice also needs pause,

to allow for a swift clutch at the beauty all around us,

all of the time.

and now i feel  much better, and,  

much worse.

words and photos by Jay Halsey

everyone I know is in the streets. 

languishing in the cold, dark cracks. like the flu. like a storm slung low with lethargy. the collective exhale of raw breath from cracked lips hangs like fog bank in the hard dawn.

all the dogs deviate the alleys, warring over rusty nails. the cigarette butts are wet and ruined. unusable. 

a man aches in more places than what he thought existed.

strange clouds give a certain depth to the dirty glow of morning. they float above a town that shows nothing new, and doesn’t care to hide its age and sorrows. 

an orange sun shines. even in the grayest shadows.

words and photos by Jay Halsey

i’ve drifted barren, windblown paths

that drag the heart and wither ghosts.

wandered on plains where

winds rip souls to cow bone dust.

drank ash-gray silt from the cracked river beds

of seedless grounds:

beneath vultures, war

and pale blue Hell.

then i ate my own pack horse

and split the sun in two.

i don’t know how i got there, or where it was.

but, man, first chance i get

i’m going right back.

words and photos by Jay Halsey

today’s petty crimes are churches of mania:

they are alive

mostly because we continue to feed them

the goodwill of man

has been replaced

by creating evil where it does not exist

there is more easy meaning

easy goodness

and truth

in a soul

that shakes and screams

than a soul that applauds

in the graveyards of things that never arrive

and the natives

of a sky that reaches everywhere

sit in small rooms

like bored spots within the shadows

waiting to take the gamble

or not waiting for anything

words and photos by Jay Halsey

bad times stalk like bare-ribbed wolves 

and the trees sway naked during the coldest of ‘em   

it doesn’t make much sense  

soldiers fight to save their dicks

and balls

from patient landmines  

no one ever seems to talk about that    

people act more like t.v. scripts

throwing faded roses at the ones biting bullets

with brittle teeth

we are told that this is patriotism

while the downward drafts

stink of bullshit

black flags unfurl across the vacancies in dirty winds…

and now

safety and decency

are just words that mean nothing  

they install mirrors in coffins to open up the space  

who would know, really?  

being the shadow

instead of the sun 

ain’t so bad when you think about it

words and photos by Jay Halsey

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snowflakes

stick like slugs

to windows

dusted black

beneath

a factory

sky

soils of fortune

lay elsewhere 

in January 

words and photos by Jay Halsey

old men with cracked teeth rise early beneath heavy skies for food vouchers and aspirin: on the hunt for one more dawn. they squat in lines and wait for movement with sick mothers and sick babies, and sick lips and eyes and hands.

the axe trims the heart,

and the heart drifts

towards shallow streams

and the drowning fish on top.

they still worship at churches, and the bottle, laughing at slow shadows and Death’s dangling tit.

belief is a pastime

like throwing rocks

in a black well.

they no longer care about the news, or fancy caskets, or what the walls have to say on Friday night, but reflect with a dull chill just the same.

no tragedy.

no glory.

no use.

no creation.

they aren’t stopping for Hell, and Heaven isn’t on the map.

words and photos by Jay Halsey

BADLAND

an elephant

sitting smack middle of the room

will finally rise with

tired

beastly grunts

defecating on his usual spot

and slowly stagger out the door

and he will

come back

again and again

words and photos by Jay Halsey

MOVING BACKWARDS

waking in beer sweat 

and virgin frost

grey moon wanes

drawing narrow tides

into the bowels of

sainthood

I swat 

and kill

a comfortable

fly

and shatter

some kind of

destiny 

words and photos by Jay Halsey