Austin Davis is the author of "Lotus & The Apocalypse" and most recently "Compulsive Swim," published in Jan 2023 from Outcast Press. Davis is a homeless outreach organizer and the founder of AZ (Arizona) Hugs For the Houseless. Born in Indianapolis, Davis now lives and writes in Phoenix, Arizona, where he aims to use his poetry as a tool to help those struggling with mental health issues feel less alone in what they're going through.

Welcome to the Poets Weave. I'm Romayne Rubinas Dorsey. Austin, what poems have you brought for us today?

Act 1, I.
this morning
i’m watered down
a flower who OD’d on rain
you say it’s okay
if we never stand up again
it’s okay if we don’t move too far
from the soil
if we melt into this queen size
grave before the sun crawls close
the ocean is old
and the sun is a baby
a new
born in diapers
with eyes
so dark and blue you could
fall right in
this city of ours
is dying
eggs break on frying pans
we smoke lucky
strikes at the dining room table
and none of us can control
a single thing
i love you and i hate
myself but more so
i hate these rituals
that move my body
and send words to my tongue
i complete
these compulsions
and they feel like hitting
the pipe without
the high
like screwing off
the top of my head
and letting the sky rain
on my brain in hopes
that for once
the bad thoughts
will smoke off to silence
all anyone ever wants
is peace
it makes sense
then why i always end
up knocking on the table
in the special way i do
once then twice once
then twice
we miss a meal
then a couple bills
then a bullet
cuts thru the cold
night down our
street past
the stolen
bike past the dope
deal thru
our bedroom
window
i hope
we make it
to wine
and medicine
to passing
out with
the lamps still on
to warming
our hands
by touching
each other

Act 1, VII.
birds outside our window
chirp in 3s i hate the number 3
you blink 3 times
before taking a bite
my wrist bleeds
when i snap the rubber band
on 3 please i think i need
to sedate myself
these thoughts itch
and i knock
on the table the way i need to
they itch and i scratch
they itch and i ask
you the same questions over and over
again do you love me still
what’d i do wrong
where’d that bird end up
after it jumped off the windowsill
before it was ready

Act 2, III.
my mom’s gonna die i cried tonight in the bathroom on the tile i’m dripping wet i can’t stop these tics
in my neck there’s an itch on my brain and the water’s not hot enough i’m dirty and can’t get clean i
mean hospitals are colder in the desert i mean i think my dad’s gonna pull his back and never sit back
up i feel too much god i hate the word much it’s the sound the man at the barstool to my left made
before falling to his right it’s the noise that left ur throat when you overdosed grapejuice skin you
didn’t wince after the first shot of narcan i don’t know i feel too low lo & behold where do we go if we
die alone cus i’m alone and i gotta call my mom it’s way too late but i know she’d pick up cus her
greatest fear is a cop on the other line calling from a wreck fuck im a wreck i can’t breathe cus oh god
oh god god i think they’re dead i know they’re dead do u think we’ll know do u think we’ll know babe
do u think we’ll know when the day arrives where we can’t get out of bed

You've been listening to poems by Austin Davis on the Poets Weave. I'm Romayne Rubinas Dorsey.