Hello Hollow Sunrise

Verbal Vol. 1 spoken word anthology

by Anthony J. Gavin

hello hollow sunrise
those empty eyes that wake me up
in the morning –
my own, in the mirror
staring back at me;
this island earth yawning open with
stinking gums,
eyes sunk like ships
for sleep that never comes;
the wreck of the Titanic,
ruins of Atlantis
stuck in the small of my back;
my hips,
my endless pits thick with black
where good pirates go to die
and life dives down to grow
          hideous teeth
          eyes of frosted glass
          headlamps to find their ways with

good morning, good morning
you will seize upon this day like Napoleon
          of mountain and crag,
          of meadow and slag-heap;
you will weep for the meek
kissing angelic rulers’ feet, for they are
far greater than the greatest of us;
picking callouses flaked off in your teeth
like holier sacraments and all of their chips.

hello hollow sunrise
fashion your hideous teeth
and feed on coral rock
straight from the reef –
hello perfect darkness
and perfect disguises,
those moonlight eyes
and depth of soul where sun don’t reach.
oh wise of salt and sand
and sweat that splits open hands,
oh empty crabshells blood red
and rash of barnacled rock,
oh rotten teeth
where the ocean erodes
and where i have forgotten to floss
for the past twenty-seven years.
good morning hip pain back pain
carpet stain memory drain
mirror that so thoughtfully decapitates
my reflection amid the stunning view
of my growing midsection.

hello November election Syrian war
pax Americana puking in an alley behind
a Moscow factory – hello ISIS
hello overdose crisis hello homelessness
tent cities and housing up thirty-percent
          on the commodity markets –
hello false land claims and colonial exploitation
hello Mother England and the Queen who
          protects our association,
Buckingham Palace corgi-keep heated by the
          exploited fucking classes,
hello alt-right fanboy fascists and left left
          far behind –

hello these hands in my face
splashing water;
i will wash these hands.
i will brush my teeth.     (and floss.)
i will pick up my feet
and strengthen my hips
(without begrudging them their width, they
are only where my lover holds me).

hello big hard cock when i awoke
but when i am awake i am tired soft
when i am awake, head heavy
say hello to every spizz-pop crackling
static bubble bursting into my inner
          inner ear –
i can hear all of the names in histor
i can hear banging away
the philosopher’s hammer,
          oh Nietzsche!
my mind slipped a disc and the track skipped
i am twisted mental fitness
Narcissus of gymnasium adorned in mirrors
landscape of depleted middle-income suburbia
performance of the power lifter powering
          through a hernia,
toxic masculinity, i am divinity
as true as ritual and words in a book.

i wear words in my look,
hello old tattoo that i don’t like
and new tattoo i do –
hello stories i am telling myself
as i look at myself in the mirror this morning:

hello hollow sunrise,
the sunshine is out,
it is pouring


← BACK          -          NEXT →

Verbal Vol.1 is a Blasted Tree anthology of spoken word poetry.

Cover Image by Kyle Flemmer