Tim Heerdink

Tim Heerdink is the author of Somniloquy & Trauma in the Knottseau WellThe Human Remains, Red Flag and Other PoemsRazed MonumentsChecking Tickets on OumaumuaSailing the Edge of Time, I Hear a Siren’s CallGhost MapA Cacophony of Birds in the House of Dread, and short stories, The Tithing of Man and HEA-VEN2. His poems appear in various journals and anthologies. He is the President of Midwest Writers Guild of Evansville, Indiana.

Hilf Mir

All directions lead to dead ends
in deceptions in depths of R.E.M.
cycling through the process
of renewal or breaking down.

                            Calvert takes many faces,
                            new roles with each iteration
                            my auto sputters its fumes
                            to halt within his reach.

                                                          I attempt to escape
                                                          paranoia my conscious
                                                          seems to forget
                                                          the grand reasoning
                                                          of possessing.

                            My breath quickens
                            as the next Calvert
                            engulfs my limp form
                            with nobody to witness.

Audrey cries out
one door over
in the now,
and I wonder
who has her
with her eyes
clenched closed.

Aubade without Good Intentions

You know what they say about what you mean
	& where it leads you.

Stay true to your gut with its hurtful
	honesty even if
others find the experience a bit distasteful.

The sun plans its ascension in just a matter
	of minutes to defeat the dark again.

I desire to lie here but I ache
	with every small movement
plus I’d rather not disturb you.

Almighty dollar begs to be earned
	with no conscience of the price.

My heart, my love, I am not
             a good man by definition,
so please, stay in the comfort of your dream.

Last evening may only prove
             to be the turning point for us.

Every neighbor’s door is locked
             except for ours
with the knob lying on the ground.

Bright rays embrace my face
             as I throw away my mask
& gloves & breathe the air that kills.

I Am

I am		feeling a little bit exasperated
I am		more than just complicated
I am		always in a state of contemplation
I am		never gonna give in to that sensation
I am 	a walking ball of determination
I am		both the predator & the prey
I am		exhausted before the end of day
I am		hoping for better word play
I am		not the reason for you to stay
I am		sorry for what I did against your will
I am		still paying the unpayable bill
I am		pulling out Hoover flags & still
I am		dodging how I actually feel
I am		a suicide attempt survivor
I am		walking dying flesh
I am		not shit if you don’t say so
I am		with & without care of your thoughts
I am		the new & the old god in my head
I am		blasphemy & the lost lamb
I am		searching for stolen faith
I am		one motherless son
I am		surprised I’ve made it this far
I am		longing for that beautiful sunrise
I am		caught in an unforgiving eternal night
I am		constantly alone with myself
I am		grateful for my sweet girls, but
I am		the monster of which I need to kill
I am		of the understanding that
I am		but a flawed limited existence
I am		doing my best, yet
I am		a lie, because
I am		tempted by forbidden fruit
I am		in constant change with reality
I am		a father, husband, brother, son
I am		an author, editor, publisher, photographer
I am		a musician, painter, & an auto body man
I am		one who travels yet am stuck in this hell
I am		ready to throw the white flag, &
I am		stubborn enough to tuck it in forgotten places
I am		imagining my mind no longer in the fog
I am		reaching for both the knife & the flashlight 
I am		still trying to decide which route is right
I am,	& that’s all I need to be for now

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