Hells Fall Festival
Jake Hajer
We call the land stripped
cell phones with dusty
cameras staring at blue
twinkle and static
like the back allies of heaven.
Acidic lead gardens
rained of shattered
car parts. Rubber peaks
browned of burlap droughts
and risen in buildings of batteries;
Blotted in an artic paper dress.
Flicking a Bic pen against
A cubicle and dreaming of
Brazil.
But in fall is hope
for winter.
Chromed like martinis
and personal like
reflections in concrete.
Bumbling wind
encourages into
tornados to blow
out the fires.
Crags take drink tickets
and spigots in crumbled dry wall
for the marrow
Frolicking
in rags of cellulite;
Nasty bark hardened to
nymphs
Reprieves of electronic
islands
and sands
of hounds
Willing into fate
our second sin
Sultry slow slur;
Grumbling cur
Curves evolving into
Animals.
Cuddling in hells fall
festival
Return to Archive
|