Works by Ben Balazs

The news is news to me. As best described as pixels of tears and broken bones, Anchors hold with voices gold, And not much more is seen or heard, But little is known of those involved except that they do suffer. That they must hold their kin by arms, by legs, by fingers, by blood, No shame can be described as that which cannot be solved. That which is missing pieces, An equation with no solution, A world of storytelling and unseen resolution. I see not much by way of pain, For I live here, I’m far away. "I wasn't there," I often say. It's not my core, it's not my life. I do not witness fear by eye. I do not fear at all. Know it I do not, The taste of blood running, The smell of burning rubber and tendons, I do not catch the wanting scent of death or hear the sound of sirens. No make or model or vision of mind, Could recreate what one can find, When met with horror and grief and loss, And yet it’s found with double clicks, And yet it’s s...

Spring cleaning never gets easy. Sometimes you find that, year by year, one accumulates an impressionable amount of waste. This year was no different than the rest. In my hands was a trash bag, full and hefty with dusty displeasure. Even so, I felt the need to double-check the contents, otherwise I wouldn't be able to sleep at night knowing I might've thrown out an antique. The first object I found was a pair of sunglasses. I had gifted them to an ex-girlfriend a while back. She always wore shades, so I figured they were an appropriate present. Only when she broke up with me did she explain that wearing them was the best way to avoid eye contact with me. Beneath the glasses was a lead pencil, snapped in two. I had gotten into an argument with my father about how I would make a living. "You're 19 now," he'd say, "Time to get off your ass." I got so infuriated with him for not understanding and I crushed this pencil in between my fingers. He left i...