« John Thomas Allen » All Right he's alright, i tell myself the easy world leaning nervously from my mouth like a man sticking his head out the window to see if the idiot finally jumped. he's alright, i tell a friend who doesn't hear me for a moment the popcorn crunch of handcuffs and thick red wrists drowning me out. he's alright, i tell my mother softly as he slips lazily into a ruffled orange jumpsuit making exactly the same sound as teeth rubbing against stone. he's alright, i tell no one in particular closing the dishwasher wondering if the sound is anything like his chipped cell door snapping shut. he's alright, i tell my garbage can as i rip to shreds a letter he sent me from prison, white cell by cell, bit by bit watching angry letters turn blood red in yesterday's spaghetti sauce, the last line stinging my eyes:"This is fucking bullshit. It was only a half gram and there were people with more in that fucking place. Two years for some shit like this. Anyway, I didn't see you in court. Please put $50 in my commissary so I can eat. Call you when I can. P.S. Don't stress, I'll be all right." Smokebreak sagging coats picked limply from the graffitied cubby. slipped on like bruised banana peels or commercial straight- jackets threaded with stitched wrists the zippers open onto dachau's rib indelible slashes carved masterfully in animal randomness a Spanish girl flaked skin falling covers her mouth with a napkin she's drawn on, mutters about germs. and here come the young schizophrenics filing along like miscalculated index numbers the key turns, air that feels like life-- "wait. you, with the bruises that have a good memory and a bandaged wrist. go sit by the telephone where "FEAR TOMORROW" was carved into the wall by some earnest unfortunate. tonight is still CO: constant observation for short i will watch you when my coffee is strong when i am weak think of how you got here, and avoid anything sharp." The Mice after Georg Trakl Into the brick abandoned house the tired mice run. Curious slivers of moonlight peek in. Icy wind scatters pages of black leaves From an old Bible left on the floor. Pink bellied and starving, they devour Acts 2:1. A percussion of white squeaks begin. In the demolished ribcage of dirty brick, Their eyes shine like dogs in wet moonlight. Smoke belches from their little mouths: Pained and pentecostal, they know truth. He watches from a broken window upstairs. Damp echoes, footsteps, move slowly down. The mice chase him as I reach a splintered landing. Wax ringing in the ears. another anxious moment disperses itself in waste like vulturous grains of sand gone to a hidden register reporting more hidden light unseen. the boy's fingertips become loose watercolors awash with DNA coded nightmares. he pulls his slumping lunchbox from an oak desk without initials thinking about a freckled face like an old potato and small fists like wooden bees. the brown leaves circling the bus stop are bleached copper by the sun itching his unlaced sneakers like dry preying mantises. the bus arrives grinding steamed metal fear and porous faces grinning from the engine's dirty chrome. the door closes and all laughter is their own another opens with splintered fury as a dated ornament falls to the ground a woman looks from moist eyelashes and sees the bus thinking she remembers how easy it was to be young. John Thomas Allen is a 23 year old poet from Albany, New York. He is currently a philosophy major in college and works as one of three editors for "Breath and Shadow", a publication geared toward disability culture. He is also a freelance tutor in poetry/literature for mentally ill/disabled students at his college. He has been writing poetry and short stories since the age of 14. His inspirations are poets like Franz Wright, Georg Trakl, and Jim Carroll. His poems have been published in Ygdrasil: A Journal of the Poetic Arts 2004, dreampeople, RealEight View, Illiterate Hooligan Press, ThunderSandwich #26, Breath and Shadow, Forever Underground Magazine (2), Falling Star Magazine, Nupenz Online, Poetically Speaking Magazine, Falling Star, 3 0 Cup Morning, Sein Un Werden, Zygote In My Coffee, dreamvirus, Tipton Poetry Journal, Prism Quarterly.