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Three blacksnakes sun bathing. One pulled by its
forward pointing snout away. One subtly
coiled in hollow space midst rocks.
The third I was standing next to as I stopped
noticing its brilliance in full light.
Side by side, it stretched out for three feet
just laying very still. I hopped backwards 3 times
then seeing the coiled snake sleeping
with the end of its tail over its head.
Perhaps the coiled one was a female,
slithered over eggs, & the 3 foot sun bather
was poppa kingsnake. He never moved from
his spot. I stepped away up closer to the tracks
to take pictures. The only movement he made the
whole time was his head. Strectching it further, lowering
trying to get a better perspective on whether or not
I was dangerous. The other circular scaled wonder
never moved. Ne'er e'en tried to move from 'neath
dead leaves that only slightly hid her
pyramidal image from the rest of the
world. Yet the looming presence of Papa
kingsnake kept even the most curious of poets
from prodding the black lady from her slumber.
The railroad tracks on each side & throughout
the flooded area littered with pop bottles, pill
bottles, long discarded cigaret packs & cups.
The sun warming the whole green scene.
The rust colored iron tracks provided linear
rhythm to the minds adulation at the rebirth of
fire at the center. Walking, absorbing the spring
vestiges of invisible ladies serenading the inner
eye with surreal primordial secrets.
Their music regenerates this body, while walking
the tracks. Man, three sun bathing blacksnakes
& the Earth. Blindly clamoring against eternity.




In defense of personal Isolationism_a draft

The more drama that explodes out there,
the more understanding, compassion &
love seem to diminish; the over surplus
of war, psych drugs, laws and new laws
that appear out the undernourished imaginations
& maleficent nightmares of those who
believe they have power.
The longer all this stands
the longer it is allowed
& flourishes

the better it is for those who know
it is against all humanity’s future
& betterment
the more isolationism must
become a way of life.




Titanic melt down

avalanche                     turbulent

formidable landslide

holes in the sky

we breathe always

a fine line of sulfur before

we leave here

stumbling off cliffs

as 13 year old genius'

lucky we had backpacks

with books

Tony would've broke

his back

we threw our minds off balconies

& made amends with the future

once gods that knew too much too soon

& yet could not stop chasing muses

beautifully destroyed


strangled by the beat attitude

ever we glide hopefully

you know,      indefinite

& remembering

it's love or regret

war & peace

between you & I

it's all about God's German


I jest much

and the point really is

we are the hammers


and again,

these streets cry out


beautifully destroyed

chasing muses

too fluid for the age

Titanic melt down

avalanche                       turbulent

formidable landslide

holes in the sky

we breathe always

a fine line of sulfur before

we leave here

stumbling off cliffs



Merritt Waldon

Merritt Waldon is a 44 year old southern Indiana poet and artist , has been writing for over 30 years, & has been published in a handful of very small press magazines over the years. A few include The sun poetic times, Mojo Risin, Beyond the Pale, RoadDwagz, Twiztd Tungz and Cheap and Easy Magazine via Crisis Chronicles press. Works and lives in Austin,Indiana.


The Brooklyn Rail

FEB 2019

All Issues