2 poems by EJ Koh

To My Mother Kneeling In The Cactus Garden

For a month I tried to think of what to say,
how many times you’ve swept a kitchen knife
across your neckline and said, This is how
you end a marriage, how many more wicks you light
for god. I could tell by your eyes you’ve never

seen him. What would you call the feeling
of abandon and caution and relief that keeps me
tethered to you?  Let me be the husband
you prayed for, the son you wanted or mother
who held you. I’ll build your new patio swing

and fold your coffee linens, wash your hardened
feet in warm water. To me you have become a prison
of its own light. I’ll grow greens and the parsley
you love and wrap them into cold sandwiches.
I will place them where you can reach with ease.

 

You’re In Good Hands

Just do it. Kill the germs. Play in ours. Apply generously. For fast, fast, fast relief. Obey a few good men. 15 minutes could save you. The best out of crime. I guarantee it. We answer to a higher authority. Anything less would be uncivilized. This is your brain on drugs. Mother approved. Nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset diarrhea. Doctor recommended. You go cuckoo for a few good men. This is your brain on drugs. Can you hear me now?

Can you hear me now?

Expect more
Double your pleasure
This is America
Choosy mothers choose
Everyday lows
Because you’re worth it
Every kiss begins
With Zoom Zoom
Nothing else will do

Only you can prevent imagination at work. For everything else, we answer to a higher authority.  Like a good neighbor. Gimmeabreak, gimmeabreak. Is it in you? To be all you can be. Great Americans of a new generation. I ask you this: what’s in your wallet? You know what I’m thinking? Break me off a piece of that. Just do it. Keep going and going and going. Because you’re worth it.

Once you pop
Nighttime sniffling, sneezing, coughing, stuffy head
This is your brain on drugs
Have it your way
Silly rabbit!
Think strong enough for a man
Trix so good they melt in your mouth
Not in your hands
M’m m’m you know what I think?

The best part of waking up. Fast, fast, fast relief. Double your fun. Anything less would be uncivilized. What happens here stays. Good to the last drop. This is your brain on drugs.
Why wait?

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Published by

Jeremiah Walton

Oi ! I’m Jeremiah Walton. For the past ~3 years I’ve been bopping around the U.S. between hitchhiking + rubber tramping, running traveling bookstore Books & Shovels + indie publisher Nostrovia! Press. My focus is in-person distribution at open mics + features + busking. Word of mouth is a fulfilling & feels to be a more intimate promotional process. I’ve featured at the NYC Poetry Festival + San Francisco Lit Crawl + Snoetry Cleveland + Beast Crawl Oakland + This Lil Lit Fest + street corners across the country. There’s a handful of my books floating around the country, but most recently is “From Here Til Utopia” (Ghost City Press). Raccoons + coyotes are my companions. Hope you dig the poems, much love, thank you❤

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