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Herman Shorts

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...
to get it is not bothering to

every story, especially those promising finally to grant the square hat with tassels, is a load of shit. the god which
reboot

just start over not so much like anything was particularly
leaning into it

leaning into, not against it. no, decidedly for, yes, always that, no matter
 1
 2
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
circumsized heart

of the things that make me become better only music is unlike surgery
Step Back

STEP BACK! There’s an infection you’ll get if you come any closer. It will open your eyes through the crust
adventures in multidimensional identity politics

nobody goes mad on purpose, also never is it not shared,
 1
no Bukowski

now, I’m no Bukowski but my friends who don’t like poet… except his stuff, tell me they like mine, and I can drink like a drinking machine
 1
beer garden

I will meet you in the open air, & pet your pony’s nose. You will be
 1
america thinks i'm dead

like bell bottoms or disco but we need it to think i’m dead
song for baby mia

we go walking around walking all over this town nothing ever getting us down cause we’re just a couple of clown…
shamefeast

better fucking eat it all up. time is getting drunk & may puke, be rude, before finally
orphans milk the queen

may be too onerous a task for those not starving. lucky
disgraceland

here in the middle of the bottom of the lie how obvious
 1
trying too hard

was all stupid. you weren’t that entertaining. i find it all only sad now, that



Alto