Tag Archives: Jeremiah Walton

Love Poem 3

by Jeremiah Walton

I fell in love with her when she said,

“Fuck every cop.

We can handle it.”

Too bad I’ve never

heard a girl say that

Imagining one

brings enough of a coke

rush to my o so lovely Ego.

Imagination is the best tool we’ve ever

evolved. At one point

we were instinctively carving

stone hatchets to dig for marrow,

like a bird

makes a nest. Without


just acting.

“I want a world where cops aren’t needed”, I said, say,

but laugh at myself for it

I guess that Laugher in me

feels responsibility

towards my fellow man.

I don’t though. Drugs bring about

multiple jumps of personality

No, shut up

we don’t exist

Pt 2

Freedom’s purpose
is to be a haphazard bomb
aerosal shot from a spraycan
to write a poem
in your day to night
lover to lover
job to job
living out
your poem
line by line.

I wrote this poem
on a bench
behind my work
smoking a cigarette.

He laughs. I laugh

She laughs
her dress
is tight like
tiger skin
on a tiger’s flesh
she can eat a man’s
in 5 minutes flat.

“Anarchy doesn’t work.” She said.

“I know” I said. He applauds himself

for torn shoes.

We do. I do.

I can’t tell you truth
without lying

Because you’re

a morphine liar

on your last couple drips.

You care only to care

That’s me caring.

My kindness is intrinsic

kids giving to get.

Kid, you’re dodging important questions.

I’ll probably never stop talking shit

That’s not me, that’s you. No

that’s her. That tigress

warm in her beautiful

body. Her breasts are small

and her smile a sun.

It’s the government

talking shit,

we cry. They kill tigers’

souls by raping them with

time behind bars. Lets fuck them

up. Make sure to burn a black flag

so they know we’re not a part

of the revolution. That we

are waving our arson prayers

past God, praying only to Man. We’re

just really really pissed

that the world

is not fair.

That’s growing up. Property and

hate, theivery and law

will not always be around.

I hope they burn with our prayers

before humans go extinct.

Realists are in all of us I guess

Sad sad radios where our hearts are.

But so is that part of us

that loves mohawk

costume parties

in basements &

waking up miserable for

work, warm with hangover

bragging about the

revolution we had last night

drunk, singing Choking Victim

with hoarse voices,

ghostly leaky faucets

of America’s


All 4 of us laugh. Me and her. Laughing.

“Passive aggressiveness
towards authority figures
and understanding
those with power
have power
only because we surrender
it unto them,
That’s freedom
in predator-prey sense.”

We chirp hungrily

begging another anarchy zine

to dump hope in our lungs.

There are multiple personalities in me

I’m not sure which is me.

I know I love her,

the Earth, and

scrounging off kindness.

I love heavy like the morning.


50 Suns on a Flag

by Jeremiah Walton

The car is rolling

Upfront, lips chatter like a snake’s rattle

(snakes with no venom)

slurring lullabies for appreciation

These birds squawk irrelevant stories,

of a lonely whore kissing as many men as possible

of who fucked who

And the who who fucked who is a who neither have chirped with

The two birds stumble through social circles

A kid with a Mohawk wanting to be a shark

reads On The Road beside me

I sit drinking warmish coffee

smoking cigarettes

writing poetry.

How much of a cliche’s weight can a car support?

How much self questioning can a body support?

How much hopelessness

can you burn with sarcasm?

Psychological defenses fester the burns

breathing into the embers

angels waltz on the heat.

I’m hungry for something

sloppy like the sunrise

A cherry plopped

on another horizon,

A new bend along curves of earth’s hips

Man is termites in her bones

Swallowing her marrow

licking the taste of salt

from her ribcage.

I love her for allowing her abuses

and excusing my apathy,

my cashing out on her body

Abandoning her

to focus on living in my benefit.

There are billions of Suns

on this planet

their gravity weak

and insignificant.

We make them seem so bright.

Hampton, Love Me Back

by Jeremiah Walton

Under the dock
untouched by
morning light
morning dew
down a sleeping spider’s leg

The pubic hairs
of the beach
are infested
with crabs.

Teenagers yawn
with the gulls
and wake
with sand
under nails
and fire
on their breath
warm nugs
of weed
into beach air

I love the smell
of the ocean.

NowEra / Progress I Love, but Criticize

by Jeremiah Walton

Dull dirt dry facts

unEarthed by

modern scholars

concerned with

minute  minute details

Seductive queries

of Existence

caress with tongue

down my belly


my fingers


leaving only

wet curiosity.


Rejected for sciences

of new age Shamans

Speaking coarse


in Essays,

borrowing thesis

of previous great mind

sucking their

fingers off.


Marriage rings

are swallowed into the belly

of the sucker

proving US

the sucker.


Knowledge building

upon knowledge


upon knowledge


A construction project

never to be completed

Driven by rocket engines,

niches, love their

every mystery

DeVoid of enchantment,

rushing to fill

the Void


a black hole


Has anyone else noticed how the sad the world has become?

It’s because we are more enlightened than humanity has ever been before.


We are

more aware

so we are

more sad.


by Jeremiah Walton

Pin hole bullet hole bleeding hole

Eye holes voice hole ass hole cum hole drinking hole soup hole

Hole in One

Hole in nOne

Earth hole

hole to China

America to Hole

Whole hole

Empty hole


full hole.


Black hole Indian hole Spic hole

sediment hole White hole ocean hole

ship hole wind hole,

Hungry holes.


of Man holes


hungrier holes.


Full hole

munches on

the hungry holes

dirt loose

at their base.


Personal hole fills itself

with twigs and

weak clay

A graves.  A grave with

a hole corpse


to be whole.


We are lost among holes.

Letter 7:

by Jeremiah Walton

Vaguely planning to go west

Stick to that misty thought with energy of a dope fiend.

Write tremendously excited with life, write with vigor, write sadness, write holy, write madness, write as if you haven’t suffered enough & as if you’ve suffered too much,

write as if you’re the only teenager who’s ever suffered.

Write no sleep, write caffeine, write San Francisco dreams, write thievery, write for Self fuck your audience, write to create a feeling of strangeness in familiarity & write the familiar strange.

Write as if you are the center of a diamond bending light

A God illuminating the Earth he crafts as he pleases.