2 poems by Jamie Hunyor


i got high & started reading NAKED
LUNCH again. i am in love w/
a woman on television, an eloping
red-head [w/ lovely irish accent]. her
name is Justyna w/ a Y so i will change
my name to Jym w/ a Y for her. it’s
impossible that she could love me but
i don’t mind. i have more important
things to worry about. is my new fiancé
rich? could she financially support me
when I’m getting stoned & writing fiction?
i have a novel idea, you see, & this could
possibly work out in my favor. ahh, feel that
sunshine? [smells like rays of opportunity
raining down from the heavens]. some say
God’s an artist & i don’t disagree, but how
could one man create such beauty! it had
to be a team! had to be a team. . .


you slept on a cardboard mat & ate
potato pancakes w/ a spork. i sat
on the stoop & watched you dream.
twenty-one long minutes passed while
you watered the gardens of yr mind w/
pitcher after pitcher of warm beer. you
woke & said, “summer is coming but
it’s just an illusion.” “February is such a
tease,” i said [w/ one pant leg rolled up,
moonwalking & eating thumb tacks]. i’m
pretty sure the middle-aged man who just
walked by muttered “fuckin’ stoners” under
his breath so i took off my shoe & aimed for
the back of his head. i didn’t realize i had
strapped bricks onto my feet until he fell
forward & man-made ponds of blood
pooled in the potholes.

Published by

Jeremiah Walton

Jeremiah Walton is wary of writing a bio.

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