4 poems by Nick Romeo

Battery

 

The alarm detonates

      In my skull

Spurring sunlight

      To punch my face

 

I crawl out

 

      Into the bathroom

Into the kitchen

      Slithering into the clothes

I laid out the night before

     

      Near the coffee maker I calibrated

To erupt simultaneously

      Within this disaster area


Supercharged jet fuel

      With color & consistency

            Of the La Brea Tar Pits

 

An attempt to reverse the Benadryl

      Melatonin

            Warm milk

Mixed with ZzzQuil

 

Compensating for bed sheets of Poisoned Ivy

      Pillow stuffed with broken glass

Dreams of gremlins gnawing my face

     

I down my breakfast:

      Cardboard-flavored power shake

 

I pack up my lunch:

      Overripe cold cuts on stale bread

            With a moldy apple

 

I’m ready to go

      I’m already late

     

To the windowless dungeon

      So I can be put in stocks

And flogged for nine hours

 

Keys, wallet, cell phone,

      Along with yesterday’s mail

            And several poems

I’m reworking

 

      Thrown into my backpack

Thrown onto my back

       Thrown into the car

            Along with myself

 

I turn the key

 

      I try again

 

Battery is dead








Nanotech Rug Cutting
 

Mister McAfee spent

endless hours in his lab,

studying nanotechnology,

and training interns.

He always felt stuck inside

an infinite time loop

entanglement.

 

One day he took a cab,

holding one suitcase,

wearing goggles and lab coat.

He traveled a strait line

to the goth club,

“The Crusty Tomb.”

The girls with the corsets

and fishnets

loved his costume.

 

The music pulsed DYM and Diverje.

The crowd bounced around

like photoelectric particle waves

as he was their nucleus.

“Don’t worry – I’m a scientist!” 

he said at a high frequency.

The power surged.

 

Silence, Darkness.

 

He now lives

under a new name,

Professor Paradox.

He is their DJ, and manager.







You're Boring, Your Friends are Annoying, and it's Cold Outside

 No, I’m not going to your Super Bowl party.





Cradle

 friends of mine said
“we’re going to play
some baseball”
I believed them
I didn’t notice the shovels
 
I can’t see, can’t move
my skin burns, bones throb
phone, shoes, wallet are gone
vital liquids drench my clothes
 
I try to slow my pulse
saving the air in my lungs
I writhe, bend, shake
dirt spills into the gaps formed
 
worms burrow in my nose
drinking fluids for survival
they slide across my face
preparing their home
 
I feel vibrations - a pounding
they jump up and down
I open my mouth to scream
more earth seals the space
 
I hear their laughter
my friends stand above
having their fun
while I'm here
 
still here



​

 About the Author: Nick Romeo is a multidisciplinary artist, musician and writer.  His writings have been published in “The Brentwood Anthology, by Pittsburgh Poetry Exchange,” Uppagus, Rune, StreetCake Magazine, Eye Contact, Syzygy, and others.  He was interviewed for Pankhearst's Fresh Featured poet of December 2015.  Nick lives in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania with his wife and cat, Megatron.  www.pittsburghartistregistry.org/accounts/view/nickromeo

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