by Jack G. Bowman

There is an invisible rack attached to him
it pulls randomly in these darkened hours,
stretches him beyond his limits, sadness, grief

he takes the revolver out, opens the side,
counts 6 cylinders over and over to calm down
imagines being small,

inside the small blue steel tunnel he crawls,
blanket to stay warm against cold metal
then shut up tight, he goes to sleep

a jolt, the chamber next to him fires:
his ears deaf, lungs fill with gun powder smoke
a silent movie drunk, he yells…

the lever moves, loading arm slides over
he staggers, falls out to the floor
head pounds,

looks up at the man who holds the gun,
grows back to his normal size
still smoky and silent

it could always be worse.

Jack G. Bowman's picture

Jack was born to a workin' class family in southwestern Ohio, but soon moved to southern California where he lives today. Changes in subculture as well as the 'spirit of the times' affected his writing and philosophy. He graduated from California State Polytechnic University in Pomona in 1986 with a Bachelor of Arts in Behavioral Science. He graduated from Pacific Oaks College in Pasadena with a Master of Arts in Marriage, Family and Child Counseling in 1997., His work in the mental health field since 1984, as well as his own bizarre life experiences, figure prominently in his poetry, art, songs and prose. Jack is a licensed Psychotherapist in the Los Angeles area., He has been a published poet since 1991.

Last updated February 03, 2012