Sorcerer
a new poem by Damon Hubbs
Sorcerer
In the exploration of decadence
I wear a baker boy cap backwards.
Bells of N.Y., the shamanic chant of pigeons,
errant moon and its French face creams,
it’s all trauma, psychosis… and you’re lying in bed
eating chicken tikka masala
talking about cross-country skiing,
Old Orchard Beach, black ties at The Turnstile,
obsessed with making the mundane
into something revelatory,
even going so far as to call my cock
the little weeper.
Don’t trust Catholic boys in Southern Indiana
hooking up with Spain’s little cheese,
undergrads on the quad like the first taste of spring.
If I told you love is a sorcerer
what would you say?
My postwar turn to existentialism
comes without warning.
We need an island with wild horses
and a peculiar openness to invented facts.
I’m losing my head
thinking of you
winking at Anne Boleyn.
Damon Hubbs is a poet from New England. Recent publications include The Literary Underground, Horror Sleaze Trash, World Hunger, Dodo Eraser, HAWKEYE, and others. His latest collection, Bullet Pudding, is forthcoming from Roadside Press. He is a poetry editor at Blood+Honey and The Argyle Literary Magazine
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