Recent Post
@metatronpress

- 10 hours ago

We took a lil break from publishing books this year BUT today we are pleased to announce three of the new titles an… https://t.co/5aFitYXaqP
h J R
@metatronpress

- 1 day ago

RT @AELAQ: Congratulations to all the #QWFAwards2021 Finalists including our members @metatronpress and @McGillQueensUP!
h J R
@metatronpress

- 3 days ago

.@theonlyelitareq’s ‘knot body’ is shortlisted for a QWF award! Congrats Eli and editor @tesssliem 🥳🎉🤩… https://t.co/AvEXSwD24o
h J R
@metatronpress

- 15 days ago

Thank you to everyone who submitted to The Metatron Prize for Rising Authors! Stay tuned for our shortlist and Meta… https://t.co/2sdenLAAZy
h J R
@metatronpress

- 16 days ago

RT @LibrairieDandQ: Today (October 3rd) is the deadline for submissions for The Metatron Prize for Rising Authors, judged this year by stor…
h J R
Archives

OMEGA | Nicholas Bon
6938
post-template-default,single,single-post,postid-6938,single-format-standard,ajax_fade,page_not_loaded,,qode-theme-ver-6.3,wpb-js-composer js-comp-ver-5.0.1,vc_responsive

Nicholas Bon

29 Oct Nicholas Bon

DOOM

 

 

I’m into the rejection of form, so take that
for what you will. Everything is written
in the same little letters, made from the same
reconfigured parts found in the same primordial
dream bucket. It all comes from some back
corner of time. Everything built on the same dirt
-y ground with the same dirty sticks. Everyone
lost in the same gross sugar fog. Doesn’t this sound
wonderful? We’re all trying to find our own space,
just trying to stay above the dirt, but I don’t really
know why. It’s probably way radder down there
anyway. Life’s just this big game of the jocks
vs. the truth. That’s the action of the world. I hate it,
but I want to absorb it all the same. Maybe
it’s my burden to carry. I keep a museum of sounds
in tiny box. Here’s the chirping of a mechanical bird.
Here’s the water running through the filthy streets.
Here’s the hum of a distant moon buzzing with light.
Here’s the ear drum solo. I could play these
for hours. I’m nothing if not a meticulous collector.
I’m trying to organize the mess. It’s me with my little
space I carve into indifference, me with the shadow
of what will eventually kill me. I don’t want to hear
about true love right now. I just want to drape myself
over this frozen pizza. I just want to collapse
like the pretty little star that I am.

 

 


 

Nicholas Bon lives in Georgia, where he edits Epigraph Magazine. You can find his recent poems in Spy Kids Review, Ghost City Review, the Bottlecap Press blog, and elsewhere. Visit him online at nicholasbon.com.

More Recent Posts