Burn Victims by Liv-Christine Hoem

They are white as the snow in November streets, and faces,
without a smile and two moons for eyes. There is no room
for hope here, do not say our names. Wipe us out,
we are the scars in the walls now, and even
if you have forgotten us, we will never forget ourselves,
while the flames grow in the edges of the photographs.
No, do not say our names, and let us burn quietly,
into the lives we never got.

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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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