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Some poems by N.W. Hall

Then will be later right now

A good way to think of reality
is to imagine what would happen
if the ideals of everyone living
were made more than tangible.

Flies know
to land delicately
on white dog shit.

Roaches scatter
because wherever
they step is home.

the cleavage
is warm with shadow.

An erection is a long
illusion. The vagina is
a lie by clear omission.

Boyhood and girlhood
decided on short forms
by very good Doctors.

Parents put up signs wide enough
for people to prowl around. Again
they’re open mouthed about things they
could put their fingers on if they stopped talking.


Holy Pilgrimage

After the money tickles its way down
the black dot, a wheel pays its respects
to the roadkill still sort of working its
way up the pavement a piece at a time.



the blue green tides are the last
organs functioning around this
monster beast’s gurgling orifice

waves lap whale flesh
smooth of all shells as
crabs gather on shore
with their red knives
dancing the butterfly

jewel sized thieves
living below the combers
stab off mouthfuls of leviathan
before the gulls can begin to load
their worldwide shipment of shit

maybe the sun points
out the leftover skeleton
to old men like a concerned mother
helping her child find a misplaced shoe

i’ve never bothered to ponder the rest
because once in the desert i saw a man
in a three piece suit take a cow skull out
of a briefcase, set it in the sand, & walk off

still does not explain where the other bones are now


Double Chocolate Mousse

When all of the pie was sliced,
we stood around holding our clean knives,
trying to decide whose face looked creamiest.


N.W. Hall enjoys sunshine, uncertainty, and drinking liquids. Richard Siken is a favorite poet of N.W.’s. Find other poems in: Shampoo, decomp, Radius, and Blackbox Manifold.