Ethan Moyer

Ethan Moyer Poems

We’re dressed in our best,
And we’re ready
For the show.

I want to see beauty.
I want to see the ethereal bindings.
I want to see the transcendental star murderers.
I want to see peace and war in the badlands.

Born to wander
Born to suffocate
Born to be tortured
Born to be born

And the bed-time hero,
Returns back to his mire.
Dear Abbey,
The children are all dead.

Tranquility and
On the
Blue Train,

Adorned, scorned, forlorn,
Magistrate her autumn legion,
And I will leave you.

Temptation, Inebriation,
Camped natural lamps,
Shaman chants,
Rants of the grand

Satyr witch-men in
Mean meditation;
Soft medication,
Invocations and inbred


Brittle birds fluttering madly,
In the warm seasons of
Pneumatic women in
Great golden Greek orgies,

Wolves and doves
Wilting violently;
Crucifying nightmares
In the trees of the forest.

Thick, wide hips and burnt finger-tips;
Hipsters and teenage strippers,
Star-drunken haven,
Euphoria breeding outlaws

F**k our dream prisons,
F**k our great reich religions
Open doors, faithless.


Desert, hot death.
Kokopelli bums,
Burning in the afternoons
Hot with the death rhyme of the

The jazz music stations are all the same.
Slave bop,
Beat rock,
The saxophone babies are joyfully living


Masterly skillful
Sculptured bodies
Thrown into the sea,
Throbbing with heartache


Oh Mother, Oh Mother, Oh Mother
I’ve left your nest too soon
Flew too high into the sunshine,
As your love had left me swooned.

Are we living in an improbable word?
& harlot pupils mirrored black tongued arsenals
Of billions of adverse souls selling their bleeding virginity
To all hierarchy angels, praying for white heaven

And now the streets are riddled with cocaine and sunflowers.
The love generation; a passed out smile.
The time our strange earth grew high,
And the saint lion, satin lovers

Emotion, channeling.
Light it.
The child-lock,


I no longer feel safe.
No longer thriving in the woven October sunrise.
No longer loving in incestuous burden.
No sanctuary of eager childhood secrets.

Ethan Moyer Biography

Musician, Artist, Poet, Thinker, Pacifist, Anarchist, Agnostic, Narcissist, Romantic, Bed-Time Hero. Greatest Influences: Jack Kerouac, Jim Morrison, Hunter S. Thompson, Allen Ginsberg, Dylan Thomas, John Keats, Edgar Allen Poe. Started reading / writing poetry this year. Too early to call myself a poet, but I'm ego-hungry and insecure. Fun, though. 18.)

The Best Poem Of Ethan Moyer

The Art Show; Crucified

We’re dressed in our best,
And we’re ready
For the show.

Tucked, like mad, demented,
Mangled children.
Cave rock spinsters, and
Scarlet starlet
Turning naked to
The harlot screen.
I’ve done my best,
And that’s all I can ask of me.
I’m wounded, I’m hurting,
Unraveled and dancing.

Cooing like cool, soft
Diamond flooded eyes, and
Flirted demise.
Something’s gone wrong.
They can’t understand.

What is wrong with this man?

Some destitute artist, like
Barren masked Alaska;
A treasure to be found through
The shivering,
Mad laughs.
He snaps.

Good god renaissance
And agnostic heart-ache,
These people;
Blood on the walls.
They don’t understand.
I’ll explain,
But it will take
A century.

Eat me now.

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