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UNDERGROUND VOICES: POETRY
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JUSTIN HYDE a minor rough patch when the little thimble full of magic that keeps us going runs dry grown men utter cryptic proclamations in dark basements pacing back and forth holding a hammer by the claw end they make empty promises to the fluid between their joints and piss themselves out of childish desperation nine days in a row they call in sick wondering just how fast they'll have to point their four cylinder kia at the corner of the 235 underpass to get the job good and done. living an unmeaningful life in a worthless age some occupy themselves planting azaleas repairing antique schwinns or playing the lotto daydreaming of styrofoam utopia. others untie the purse strings and prop up the lives of strangers in zimbabwe or darfur. this one here gets drunk a-lot. thinks himself cavalier jotting it all down. Justin Hyde lives in Iowa where he works with criminals. He has a web-page here: http://www.nyqpoets.net/poet/justinhyde |
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