sunday

nothing connects

walk a weak street / no longer optioned

how we want out

this smooth wastage what belongs to us

caught in so much daylight
(plainclothesman's funnel)

skin warmed by the eye
ignored by the hand

limp handshaking all that bridges us
(or else sunday cough)

analog clock semaphores
(calc the time left)

maybe a side reality that sleep deletes
will be recovered, regeared for travel

pool of glass
under blue light

& were you on an illicit?
your pupils played bent little notes

all the pixels spilled...

last night city
a dirty epic
held words
(the poem i needed)

now that city is missing

- Stu Hatton

(featured in the poetry forum 02.02.10)

apology

sorry for the slow reply

I’ve been sick again,
spitting air,
haunting town without a face

(this face no longer valid)

hungry words flock
to define me:
'cut-price', 'reheated', 'uneven'…

so uneven I’ve been cutting
around the gardens rather than through,
fear fresh breath of pines
will make me retch

watched by a list of eyes,
tailed by some voodoo priest
giving off his dark light

no call for music,
food

mostly hide tight
up in this one-window bedsit
flicking switches
experimenting with the light

gazing down
at the playhard kids
rewiring themselves,
scalping tickets to fastland

they’re ready
to ambush me with scissors,
milk the meds out

although wait for it, the icing:
my phone is dead
(I killed it)

but enough of me,
how are you?

please accept this
small peace offering:
a freshly picked posey
of eyelashes

- Stu Hatton

(featured in the poetry forum 12.03.09)

Inferno

& when you finally touch down
in hell
(no red carpet)
the coffee’s gonna need to be strong.
Hungover-horny & (shit!) your sunglasses
left at home in a jacket pocket.
Of all the things to be without...
Sterling Morrison, Joey Ramone & Ray Charles
smarter men than you (on this score)
look godlike standing round in shades
(still!)
The future’s so bright, etc.
It's funny, Lucifer’s looking a lot
like Danny Tenaglia these days.
Guess he’s always hoarded the killer tunes.
Had them all
back at the tree, in snaketime. Brokered ever since.
So here’s the rub:
there’s drugs everywhere
but no painkillers
or sleepers.
Figure pretty quick that you won’t
be sleeping ‘til… who knows…
Judgement?
But by then your bender will’ve
gathered such momentum that
you’ll’ve forgotten everything
important – even what they say
about the wicked. Anyway, it’s true. And
they're out of ice.

Notes: Sterling Morrison played guitar in The Velvet Underground. Danny Tenaglia is a New York-based DJ known for his marathon stints behind the decks (20 hour sets are not unusual for him).

- Stu Hatton

(featured in the poetry forum 10.24.09)