James Hull Poems

I would like an hour with bread and butter
My wallet in a guillotine shaking at its imminent demise
This hour would entail soft hands around my rib cage
So if I closed my eyes my chest would feel like an Escher painting
...

Cha Cha away with ya, angles in dark masked helmets
fire choral spinning beauty across gibbering bystanders and blessed
are the low profile thin spotted ties, lynching the hangers on
crusting themselves with white powder power, hiding on toilet seats
...

Autopsy

The slick slip stream
Blows up leaves
...

Tasha Decides To Leave Waveney Terrace

I let a slit of light fall in from the half open door
And sit in the corner smiling in the obscurity of the room
...