Mat Gould

hewn of (un)wit

not the strangest of new days
but culpable enough
to sustain the waking hours

tempted and attempted
redemption is thus not as easy as trepidation

humor as one may the trembling of a pulse
or the trembling of a confident tolerance
or the tumbling of an otherwise unbalanced nature

I am just saying...hang on or let go, do both
act the marionette and the ballet
stub your toe and crack the knuckles

get a good running start at the bucket
kick it rambunctiously
as would a bird flown into the house
flutter mad

not the strangest of new days
it is but decent and portrayable
enough for the layman to explain it to himself.

 

hindered hind

with the back of the hands placed amidst daylight
the face recognizes itself in wrinkles and veins
thus…on with the day then

the face knowing these hands
vows to trust them
knowing whose hands belong with the face

to grasp
to conceal
to feel and feed

sifting amongst the daylight
the daylight itself
face in hands

the briefest of reprieve
if even a slap
the face recommends.

Mat Gould resides in a small cabin upon a northern most ridgeline in western North Carolina where he is putting the final touches on his most recent manuscript Hillside Spine to be published by Dog On a Chain Press and is otherwise whittling poems into a sharp point.