Joe Wallace “Birthed Anew” “Smell And Memory”

Birthed Anew

by Joe Wallace

The retro stomp and base beat line in time of a vibrating subwoofer humming

And string instruments with the same wine as a florescent page changing


Of Digital magnanimity that flickers faster than the slides of a life time ago

And the base matching beating head of the wretched and divine 

Plugged, black rubber buds in the drum receptors receiving

Bumbum, Bumbum, Bumbum, Bumbum!    

In the shadow behind shades of a room swaying to the rhythm of caffeine and loading screens

Until like a hammer anvil spilt the air and broke a cloud in two so a drop of sun fell stretching

Like a drip of honey   


Unperceived by the black pit pupils and colored rim that without light is not color at all

Onto the pail cells of skin starving in darkness

Like so many people raising their hands screaming “Save us”

Came braking the imaginary landscape of pixilated tress and visual representation of wind

To the smell of dust and the realization that he had hands.

The scalp tilted on its axis shifted and needle thread through the eye looked through the Blind.

Like a splash of green dye in a bowl of milk

Liquid growing through a peddle entwined came to life.

Dilation of focus

Exhalation of Ah!

Natural undulation of baritone cords sing in silence pure identity

Rode up dull against the insulation of poly-petroleum byproducts

And the wires made of the same synthetic rubber attached to his own living face

Gripped in his hand taken to a degree defying gravity

Pulled with unpracticed strength

Pop, Pop!

Cast out precision to undefined power of sound


Thrown open the window and gripped curtains ripped to the ground.

Like a gust flood poured splashing

Against the dank floor and stale air gold

Contested both shadow and inaudible white,

Absorbed in the pours

That overwhelmed every sense until the walls were broken down

And head filled with the pressure of self sang

Bumbum, Bumbum, Bumbum, Bumbum!

Hair in the wind of steaming fog crawled

To the backdrop of trees and emerald glowing leaves.

His knees planted, roots

His finders like woven oak

In soil closed and wouldn’t let go

Outstretched his hand to the light

Wrapped around, down his wrist and held on too

And everything grew!

Smell and Memory

Evening breeze,
Honey dew, lilac, and mint.
Scent of purpose through being
Come back to me.

Peace in beam, the bee
Hums the sun energy,
Refresh and soothe,
My being be
Come back to me.

Past, the past
Of feeling, friend, hope, and dream.
A feeling.
All else
Come back to me.

About The Author

Joe Wallace is a New England writer currently living in South Carolina, working as a freelance writer, personal trainer, and life coach with his older brother.  He attended River Valley Community College in New Hampshire, majoring in the creative writing program under poet, Jenifer Militello.


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