Don’t by Neil Fulwood

The moonlight, the bellboy and the boogie
would like to know why all this blame.
The fine city of Rio echoes the query.

The woods, the old dark house
and the basement of said property
are curious why they have such a bad rap.

My blue suede shoes might like to be stepped on,
and while you shouldn’t go breaking my heart
great art is often wrung from a skewered aorta.

The deadly sins of umpteen holy texts
would like it known that “thou shalt not”
is “don’t” plus VAT and therefore as tempting

as blaming that wanton surge of passion
on the Rio moonlight and a boogie-ing bellboy,
blaming the madman’s axe-swinging rampage

on a poorly-lit cellar and a stretch of woodland,
blaming the lachrymose strains of a pop song
on a broken heart and a pair of shoes.

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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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