Kevin M. Hibshman has had his poetry, prose, reviews and collages published around the world, most recently in Punk Noir Magazine, Rye Whiskey Review, Piker Press, The Crossroads, Drinkers Only, 1870, Synchronized Chaos, Yellow Mama, Unlikely Stories Mark V, Literary Yard, Lothlorien Poetry Journal and Medusa's Kitchen. He has edited his own poetry journal, FEARLESS for the past thirty years. He has authored sixteen chapbooks, including Incessant Shining (2011, Alternating Current Press).He received a BA in Liberal Arts from Union University/Vermont College in 2016. A new book, Just Another Small Town Story will be available from Whiskey City Press in 2021.
trees through the fog
i feel it
a faint tremor
your calling
stirring in my heart chambers
dreamscape of rising mist
roused gently from falling
into soft sleep by a sudden stillness as
something brushes across my cheek
wind cushioning the collapse of reason
i throw open the door in mild distress
anticipation
a hint of dread
finds me running wet
through sodden leaves
you had promised that you would find me
i cannot see any form yet when i pause
i can hear you breathe
rippling
like water
like mystery imparting a glow
to the fog between the trees
Meteor Shower
It was in the meteor shower that night.
The skies were bright with objects ablaze.
I had such wonderful dreams.
Little alien things whirling and whizzing by.
Ah, youth!
You saw it, too!
I asked you to believe.
They wanted me to.
Mirror universe.
Flexible dimensions.
One swirling, sophisticated, holographic spasm?
It was in the music.
Precise and patterned.
A signal.
A Wake-up call.
I sang it as we swept drunkenly down the halls to sleep.
It has followed me through the years.
Calls to me now:
“Love the mystery even if it turns out to be merely an illusion.”
There are no limits to the imagination.
In the realm of infinite possibilities,
There can be no finite conclusions.
The Thing That Keeps Me From You
Is it politics?
Is it preference?
Is it the pigment of our skin?
Is it science?
Is it religion?
Is it some antiquated concept of grace and sin?
Is it fact?
Is it fiction?
Is it just more inane bullshit?
Someone's uninformed opinion?
Is it language?
Is it geography?
I'd like to believe it is only conquerable distance