Live Nude Poems

something they call home For a few hours, white snow fell before nightfall; then rain came and washed it all away. The lone streetlight on this dead end street, the one that often makes the poems, makes me think of Weldon Kees and his porchlight coming on. My neighbor, a miserable man who never waves, whose name I will never know, called the electric company about the streetlight’s stutter, about its blinking off and on, from dusk to dawn. They came and fixed it when I was at work, when I wasn’t around. And now, it’s just a well-lit beacon, birthing brightness upon this street, guiding lost souls, wet from rain, towards something they call home. Tohm Bakelas is a social worker in a psychiatric hospital. He was born in New Jersey, resides there, and will die there. His poems have been printed widely in journals, zines, and online publications all over the world. He has authored twenty-five chapbooks and several collections of poetry, including Cleaning the Gutte...

160 E. Main Street down at the exchange where coke is passed around like change owed from a tab, i sit in the darkness with my beer and pay no mind. in this life we all have too many chances but not enough fight, not enough fight and too many chances. but down here we all gather, a lost congregation praying for continued solitude with fading hope that an unfamiliar face says “hello.” but here the coke goes to and fro, up noses and tucked into seamless pantyhose, blue bras, and flannel shirt pockets. and in the darkness i wait, cigarette lit, beer sweating, me sweating, while tomorrow morning creeps in, and soon i’ll return to a place where people laugh all day long when no jokes are being told, where no jokes are ever told. Tohm Bakelas is a social worker in a psychiatric hospital. He was born in New Jersey, resides there, and will die there. His poems have appeared in numerous journals, zines, and online publications. He ha...