Poetry by Daniel Hoda-Shook

Arrant

Treat them with real bullets please,
she drives me insane. And I,
if I've wandered from her,
if I am found bleeding of mind and eye
that green in the heat of August,
I am found crawling beneath the skin of her father's
white thinning frame, then I will pray,
and Jesus, if you were here today,
if you asked if I were lonely
I would embrace you, and pull you into my breast
and kiss you full on the mouth and beard--
you would cry and wish that Gethsemane
were a park in Vermont, and you and I
were sleeping in tents, hungover and dreaming of her.

More

More Poetry
Vivianesque

Back to Contents