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Five Poems by John Hanson

Maria might have moonlight

for her blanket

but the demi-tramp working the nightshift

hates his boss

so

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 

copper 

skin goes

clap

clap clap

clap

 

*

 

Hatter causing ripples

in smoked-out subterranean

poolhall

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?

strange

because the opposite seems true

anyway

– 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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