Five Poems by John Hanson

Maria might have moonlight

for her blanket

but the demi-tramp working the nightshift

hates his boss


she slips burnt leather from her wrist

& puts it in his hand


just like that

a ritzy dorm bed

is hers




three young tongues share

a scarab beetle

a pearl amulet

a vitamin 

& they shiver & gulp 

as their naked 


skin goes


clap clap





Hatter causing ripples

in smoked-out subterranean


Queen of Tits 

offers her subjects

Hatter gropes & kisses

& racks up a line of coke

on each of them

between hits

he tells her

– I love you

& she smiles

& knows he can’t lie &

they weld lips under broken skateboards




above damp sand the seabirds 

spin a caterwauling tempest


over damp sand young people scream

& whisper things they couldn’t say


on damp & silent sand rest rocks

& conch shells

oceanic turncoats

pretty in pink


in damp sand tears sleep

it’s better that way




Grass Will Cover Your Cities

that’s from the Bible

isn’t it?


because the opposite seems true


– I’m cheering for the grass



John Hanson writes, works, drinks and hitchhikes around Europe. He’s currently under a blanket in Albania.



Image credit: budak

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