by Kallima Hamilton
Exuberant beatniks in angst-black turtlenecks,
secretly dreaming of sunlight and waffles,
scrounge their pockets for rhythmic shards
of keen poetry and wailing laments.
Blow those blues, Daddy-O, blow those blues.
Fresh young trees spitting gold cold leaves
on urban decay, the way you do a John Wayne
with a cigarette into this cement gutter
covered with wet newsprint and remnant fries.
It's all neon and Pepto-Bismol from here.
Some fungi swiped your tree frogs.
Sweet confetti of annihilation,
save us from the garish fate
of baboon-butt bright self love.
- thank god I’m a poet
- SUCH KNOWLEDGE
- SORT OF A NEW BEGINNING
- Artist's Son
- For Paradox 5
- I AM
- Life is a sad-slow movie with subtitled romance*
- DISCARDED SOCIAL BURDEN
- LUST BLOWING UNDER THE DOOR, BRIGHT AS STRAW
- The Big Shiny Prison
- Westy bar
- THE CARNIVAL
- Tuesday, July 7, 2009
- gun shots bust like nickel plated cherry blossoms
- new chap by Catfish McDaris
- My First Two Kills
- The Kama Sutra of Edward Cullen
- This is just to say
- A Library Fantasy
- 3 Poems by Emily Handover
- Peruvian Dream
- Eyes of
- "even-sev" by Sarah Ahmad
- "lover a banana"
- "Tale of Two Lovers"
- questionable vocalization skills
- gorilla architecture
- Flat Water Prayer
- ▼ August (33)