Literary Orphans

Three Poems by Jeremiah Walton



This must be the end of somebody’s empire
Telling dreams to those who nod their head excitedly
but are more eager lust than passion eyes
wishing to leech fuck any asshole
shitting in proximity.

I send a proxy everytime
I am scheduled to address the public.


4 AM

4 am walks
swallow lamp posts.
Sticking forks in light sockets
hoping to shock lightening bugs under flesh awake.
Talking ugly harmonica
trying to remember good from bad
Walk out the door with the worst intent
of coping’s necessary evils.
Clouds gather
smoke in lungs in sky.
Angels star disgrace.
Angels gather for funeral
link hands,
link fingers.
Full Moon
dead Moon.
The Sun inside dead
Solar light
finally hitting home.
Worst intentions manifest as baseball bat.

Fighting my own dead oak.



There was a new vision in poetry

Ordinary was a gorgeous dress on the woman of straight fantasies

or the perfect cock in the hands of homosexuals.

You can teach children to count with my ribs

Belly clenches farts of nothing for calories.

I’ve been cutting myself beneath the skin

I’m going through the motions with poetic knives

Can’t bring myself two excrete anything worthwhile

I is the vowel I will burn even if innocent

Fuck Nostrovia, I don’t need a cheer to get drunk

Molly raped me of emotion

concoction of serotonin spiked

like a naive stripper’s drink.

Nobody’s a nobody

but this nobody is an idiot.

Enter age

and older girls want to suck his dick to feel younger

The harlots of poetry drooled on the lines

and broke my pencil(s).

I can’t get blood pumping to my dick

let alone through my heart.

Read poetry like a 30 second bible

Rub splooge on a toilet seat

leave an ass print

and chuckle while glasses and cigars, punk songs and needles,

contemplate their confused mess

the backed up broken joints

beauty is lack luster until


Until blood.

Until the lantern of jaw.

Blood, blue, red, black, yellow

kerosene of the soul.

Bending to spit

up tobacco lung

on avenues of sunshine

I walk away

scaling between

apathy and desperation

and chuckling at


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Jeremiah Walton graduated high school spring, 2013, and hit the road hitchhiking the following fall. Jeremiah is founder of Nostrovia! Poetry, and works intimately with UndergroundBooks. Books & Shovels, a traveling bookstore station wagon he’s moving into, is launching at the 2014 NYC Poetry Festival at the end of July.


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–Art by Charles Simms