GATSBY'S ABANDONED CHILDREN by Jeremiah Walton

I'm watching my Hour Glass

surface resembles New York pavement

like sand threw my fingers across the room

Zombie hand 

tossed with

bloody baseball 

stealing batter's teeth,

depositing them

into little red purse

containing brown pearls 

and slaughter prayers.

We'll wire wrap necklaces

with baby teeth

and copper. 

We'll sell them on street corners

watching prostitutes duck in motels.

Watching young gang bangers 

seeking fangs for their knuckles

stab each other 

over whose color

is of rainbow. 

Traveling kids and 

train hoppers 

spange for 

space bags. 

Anarchists print zines 

to defend Love. 

Love is my market. 

Those Gatsby abandoned to necrophilia. 

Upper Class nymphos fuck each other like wallets are love poems. 

When I dream of the future

I see an empty fridge.

When I dream of the future

I see holes. 

When I dream of the future

I see question marks.

When I dream of the future

I see wet notebooks, 

melting poems. 

When I dream of the future

I see dreaming of a future.

Hour Glass finishes tocking.

Nails begin ticking 

casket closed

and all that's left

is a bunch of first person poems 

and bleeding chapbooks 

dripping everywhere

but where blood is needed.

Author bio: 

Jeremiah Walton graduated High School spring of 2013, and hit the road hitchhiking the following fall.  He's since found himself trapped in a black hole called Erie.  Jeremiah manages Nostrovia! Poetry, W.I.S.H. Publishing, The Traveling Poet, and works as an editor for UndergroundBooks.