Thomas Hoad is a third year undergraduate student at Brock University in St. Catharines, Ontario. He is studying English Language and Literature.
Messy mastication in mini-mall maxi-marts
Eating merry metals for multiple mystery machines
Many men screaming “Mommy, mommy, mommy!”
Men moaning in
To that permanent myriad of miscues and misgivings,
And they muffle their minds with meaningless promises
To their mad melancholy mystifying mistresses in
“Remember December?” the men ask,
“Marching through mortar mounds and maniac German Marx?”
Missionary missions are declared amiss with myth
Mauled mortal mansion houses and
Miscarried metal electronics, manufactured melted plastic maze
Amount to meddlesome misguided master plan distractions
And that manic stuttering “M-m-m-m-m-m-mommy!”
A Morning Walk Through Puddles
Flat pop and rain batters,
Coats in a gloss and the
The blind man shines.
Like acid, the rain melts the world away;
No way to breathe under water
But everything is beautiful.
In the dark, there you were,
Innocent expression, umbrella in hand,
As you caressed a tank that was
Long since dead.
It’s a lovely day outside
But I know the real truth.
It can be lovely, but it’s still
It’s ugly because you like it that way.
Freezing the sun, your stare comes this way.
Like Medusa, your gaze kills all,
But only when you
You stack the quarters beside my bed
Like a payment
The stack won’t stay neat,
But that’s not your intention.
“Well, fuck it,” you said.
And fuck it I did.
Like a deer in spring,
Being sent mixed signals by a
Hell, I’d do anything for you.
A slave mentality suits you well,
“You’re lucky,” I said.
“Why?” you ask.
“Because there’s another bottle of vodka.” Is all I can think