by Damon Hubbs
Volcano
My android supports the Habsburgs.
When you appease the jealous god
I go skinny dipping with Deborah.
There’s a double moon,
a brass telescope on a cliff;
my gently creeping
hard-on is a 12-line poem.
We’re into fantasy.
Talking foxes.
Coxswains on a trip to nowhere.
I named her right breast
Mervyn Peak.
Nothing wrenches me out of a volcano
like a good drink.
My android exhales at midnight
slow burn, yogic blood,
veins like mosquito netting.
The organ tightens like a castle
and the classical folks find themselves
on a planet strangely eroded,
womb passport poorly portaged.
I dog the hair,
I know. I eat the skiff.
I part despair in broad outlines.
The griffin and the minor canon
is worth a packet of potato meal.
Do two worlds
really occupy one space—
Heap
O android, my android
The sea is here today
And I can’t find the perfect book for the beach.
I’m a man-made plague.
Everyone is obsessed with Homer
And sunflowers and data centers painted a perfect pitch
Of white. I hear the vineyard sounds
I sing the song
Keep the old bills
Precious metals, communist playgrounds—
O android
The curse of the Dane isn’t real.
I left my pain under the porch where the dog died.
They get it so hard
My untidy heap of love.
Damon Hubbs is a poet from New England. Recent publications include Bullshit Lit, Version (9) Magazine, Virgo Venus Press, Revolution John, The Disappointed Housewife, Horror Sleaze Trash, and others. He is the author of the poetry collections Nighttime Logic and Venus at the Arms Fair. He serves as the editor of Ape House Magazine.