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Whiskey warms my passion

“im passionate cuz ive much whiskey
and ma cheeks are rosey

no bio, kindly.

bit strange.

hope yr well”

– jjc
under the influence, an image or two
by Joseph James Cawein

They took er power
and we wan’ it back
and we wan’ it now
and we wan’ it in more than
just symbols
& prevailing winds

we wan’ it in hunger
and we wan’ it in torment
and we wan’ it bleeding
the bowels of fat cats
and skinny mice
and screamin’ to the sky
‘no truth
no truth
no truth’

are you squeezing a fly
in the space between
your knuckles?

Stars
stripes and
most of the
inbetweens.

Blood red embers
on december afternoons.
Maybe dictionaries,
maybe not.

did you swallow a spider
in your sleep?

Inchworms
inching along.
Inch by inch
by inch.
Yr ass
was a cinch.

The legalized
culling of children
in pennsylvania.
Back to earth.

are they there,
in the ravine?

Out the door and
there are birds.
Are chrysanthemums?
Atrocity.
Mums the word.

They took my power
and I wan’ it back.
Smells like sewage.
Tastes like sewage.
Fucks like sewage.
Quacks like sewage.

Like crazies with
their caffeine
coffee.
Like doctors playing golf.
Like what the fuck is right?

Are chrysanthemums?

Magazine articles.
Celeb baby bumps.
Cleavage of
samantha.
Snatch of samanthamums.
My nipples will never
feed a fly.

Too much
to drink
on oregon nights.
Pertinent matters of fact.

Flower pot
full of seedlings
in the rain.

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Filed under: Fuck Art, Let's Dance

About the Author

Posted by

Jeremiah Walton is wary of bios, but there's the current sign they're flying: “Jeremiah Walton is founder of Nostrovia! Press & traveling bookstore Books & Shovels. They’ve featured at the NYC Poetry Festival, Oakland Beast Crawl, San Francisco Lit Crawl, Death Rattle, the Kansas City Poetry Throwdown, Cleveland’s Guide to Kulchur: Snoetry, among other lit fests, street corners, & living rooms across the country. They loath-themselves, & are struggling to find a healthy extension of the poem that incorporates publishing. Consistently confused, & trying to make space for compassion for the parts of myself I hate.” That feels like tattooing "love me" across my neck, but hopefully you get to know me thru my poems, not the accolades that are nothing more than memories to let go of.

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