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Herman Shorts

nice place

god is unwelcome
in suburbia, the cells
are too comfortable
there, & love rests
best under stars.
tell me, again
how nice
things are
there where
nothing is ever
shattered properly
& nothing grows but lawns,
boredom & the dread of death.

(2014)

Altre opere di Herman Shorts...
circumsized heart

of the things that make me become better only music is unlike surgery
labeled falsely

I understand the tattoo now “VERITAS” on your wrist, only there because it is entirely absent everywhere else.
 4
every (other)

just listen the trees drink silly.. I work i work that day the not
chronic, yet pressing issue affecting development, function

unspeakable dearth of nutrient the cause of the complaint, lack of the sweet titmilk of human connection,
the rub

something you need makes you its bitch, yes even as it isn’t coming, no when love stands you up & all the more sweet
About People and Things

I love how you talk Down to everyone In your poems Which, unlike fiction Are not covered
 1
the nature of the enemy

if i stub my fucking toe it’s their fault so say i, and who could argue? you almost
selling tears

if you enjoy this pain, all expressions of it, being here compiled, then, yes enjoy them, but
 1
disgraceland

here in the middle of the bottom of the lie how obvious
 1
reboot

just start over not so much like anything was particularly
negative gravity

no means no. no response means no. (everyone knows maybe means nothing
saying things

liking to say things, all kinds of things, mostly about the way things seem
is there, then, a vortex?

shall we turn down the covers, crawl inside? find there a place that’s been waiting for us, a vortex of sorts
 1
i feel pretty

the very idea that i could be
entreaty

we are nearly always a world which almost



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