Brian Rihlmann Poems

I remember in New Orleans,
we walked from our hotel
down to the rails
on St. Charles Avenue
...

The hands have vanished.
The puppets strewn carelessly,
laying about, sleeping,
as puppets are lazy when
...

A hug, or a slap in the face.
Money for a bottle,
or a meal instead.
A kind or harsh word.
...

As our faces wrinkle,
and our hair turns grey,
the world's colors fade
to a similar shade.
...

Some weekends
you stay in the same clothes,
don't shower, brush your teeth,
or comb your hair,
...

It's not the ripples
on the water's surface
that drive us mad,
...

I threw it to
the wounded ones,
the ones with
eyes like chipped ice,
...

playing with minutes
like an alley cat
with a spider
a butterfly
...

they will throw sand in your face
laugh as you stagger blindly
pushing and shoving
when you raise a hand
...

Moans of the disabled
from the house next door,

whining from a neighbor's dog,
...