snowing in omaha

maybe it's snowing it tokyo 
maybe it's snowing in omaha
and maybe there’s a shortcut tunnel between the two
	an easy commute
	thru the center of the earth
an inter-dimensional breezeway of the soul
a straightaway that stays true 
	and there you are 
side-stepping two blizzards

the long hallway is filled with portraits of dead uncles
and other gorgeous goons who stare at you
	admiring at your shoes
antique tables with antique candles and
chihuahua zinnias in chinese vases
the floor is covered in zebra skin rugs
zebras sold separately 
	there’s a gift shop
that sells postcards of all your favorite memories
(sunshine, razorblade skyline, sunburnt faces
eskimo pies melting on a playground) 
		nine for a dollar
there’s a waiting room 
recently repainted and waiting to dry
so you have to wait to wait in it
	that’s ok cause
there’s a dumbwaiter that delivers old world newspapers
	printed on new paper
made from reclaimed lumber
but the same old news as yesterday
	there’s a gallery where you are on display
where you stick your head into a cage and talk like a parrot
(squawk! like a parrot! squawk!) 
		but then something feels wrong
			something feels sick, oh
			no, you say
				where am i?
this is not a dusty old museum, it’s a mausoleum
it’s a warehouse full of funhouse mirrors
center of your soul
dead center of gravity
where momentum goes to die
		it’s a prison 
you run and run but go nowhere
and the more you run the more nowhere you go 
you try to leave but the doors are just painted on  
you try to sleep it off but wake up three hours before you slept
and have to start over 
you rage at the walls 
in fast forward and super slow-mo simultaneously
feeling like a poet who swore an oath of silence
wears a black beret and striped shirt
pulling a rope of pure hope
catatonic
catastrophic  
chthonic 
symbol of the dead
and your skin feels cerulean and your breath is feathery 
and your mind feels glassy and your heart starts to foam
and you don’t want to search for yourself inside yourself anymore
cause a hole inside a hole is dangerous and ugly and unholy
and it’s still snowing in tokyo
still snowing in omaha
and probably six foot deep and blowing sideways in rome  

and there’s a banjo in your pocket 
but you don’t know how to play it

note: i think i should get credit for using the word “mime” even though i didn’t use it… i mimed it =) just kidding.

posted for shay’s word garden word list

posted for the sunday muse #241

23 thoughts on “snowing in omaha”

  4. I am tempted to pretend to be caught inside an invisible box and to press my white-gloved hands up against the invisible walls, just to acknowledge your silent use of “mime.” I do see that the mime costume did get included!

    This piece is highly imaginative and takes a terrifying nightmare turn in the middle. You had me at snowing in Tokyo because i always love snowy Japanese scenes and snow monkeys and temples and all of that. Litte did I know i would end up in Hell’s waiting room. Poet, please never take an oath of silence. Your stuff is too good.

    –Shay

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    1. yeah, there seems to be something missing in the middle, the nightmare turn doesn’t seem justified, but i think i know how to fix it, i’m going to let it sit and stew for awhile before i play with it.

      silence? never!

      thanks shay

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    1. thank you. i’m trying to do more of your sunday muse challenges this winter, but i write slow, so i try to get them done on time but never do =) also, you’re quite the talented poet, i need to follow your blog.

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  6. “the floor is covered in zebra skin rugs
    zebras sold separately
    there’s a gift shop
    that sells postcards of all your favorite memories”…

    Captivating imagination! I went with you willingly – like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate factor until it turns scary… and ended up in a horrifying place! i just love your ability to create like this!

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  7. Such an amazing journey you take us on!! I loved all the detail – especially the old newspapers and the new paper and the old trees and the old news. I loved the creative ways you used all the words. I really enjoyed this poem.

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  9. Forking great, the entire thing. Just have to say though: “chihuahua zinnias” LOLOL! This is amazing too: “it’s a warehouse full of funhouse mirrors / center of your soul / dead center of gravity / where momentum goes to die” And then those last two lines. I vote you full credit for “mime.”

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  11. This is stunning read, Phillip! Just a major trip of monsterful proportions. I love the fact that it’s snowing somewhere around the scene, and the lines “side-stepping two blizzards” is wonderful.

    But the way it ends is the icing on the cake:

    “and there’s a banjo in your pocket
    but you don’t know how to play it”

    Absolutely love these lines! The best ending 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

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