So sometimes I like to read
And go into their dreams
I feel the grass like the wind
In Dylan Thomas and everything
Smells of semen he’s always
Talking about salt and ears
Of corn and things I hear his
Deep voice imagine Welsh
Baritone or just booming or
Hungry and dripping with words

And then I go on hobartpulp.com
To see tens of unique but similar
Tales of realisation, family, love
The new poetry and I look over old
Couture Noir feature lists and
Maybe I write something in LA or
Miami and then it’s vagabondcitylit
If they’ve decided to do an issue
Lately and I’m looking for poems
About transgressional romances

On my table are two Hunter Thompson
Collections I read over and over
And three collections by local
Poets Andrew Graves and Penny
Pepper and Society of the Spectacle
And a horn and a clay jug and my
Almost broken headphones taped
Together with hairbands and a pot
Of coffee and as I get to the peak
Of the coffee high my mouth vents
Petrol and I roll my head back.