Phillipe Martin Chatelain founded In Parentheses. He is currently pursuing an MFA in Poetry at The New School in NYC. He has self-published two chapbooks in the taking shots alone series and has been published in several online and print publications.
from taking shots alone: “A short description of the content of this project is given by its title; it includes 100 simple and complex silent musings, reminiscent of a drunk first-person narrator thinking to himself. The context of the “shots” (100 short poems) is loosely based on the effects of alcohol, increasing insanity and self-reflection as they go on… It’s a microcosm of my larger poetic repertoire. PLEASE ENJOY THESE RESPONSIBLY.”
I was stuck in this level of purgatory for some time.
But now i’m here with you
ambiguously dropping hints
of what I am actually saying.
But as usual you understand
and the conversation moves forward
in the normal manner.
Problems with family shrink
with the turning tides.
The friend zone is
cuddling up on an elbow or knee.
No use being little or big spoon to a knife.
The knife in your back
is when you feel most bare. It settles you.
Wouldn’t invite anyone to this
what is mine
meagerly alone in the bed
familiar vibration and rhythm
of fingers and mind.
Observe the movement of the day
and you’ll see that i’m right
Spread your arms and your legs,
you’re on the dimple of the moon.
you’re waving at the pearl
a familiar blue in return
you’re acting like you’re here
You feel your emptiest
as you leave the warm body of a lover
in the morning.
Their gentile snooze softly calls you back
but the true shame in your exit
is the impediment of desire,
by a different name it’s progress.
I’m hitting my groove.
In the end, we die forever down.
won’t dry neat
like a scab on fabric.
(It’s fine; it looks good.)