hobart logo

October 5, 2022 Poetry

3 poems

Cash Compson

3 poems photo

3am & we’re here


I taste worse &

worse. I’ll be dreamless by

Christmas. & beyond. Let me wake

up at the wedding with no memory of

anything in my times before or

after.  I can’t tell

you anything I saw on

TV this week. Movies by the

minute. I wish I

were Emily Dickinson so I

could be sexy when I

think about death

in my bedroom.

I want to be

your monster. Sweat heavy

unto me. Draw me like one of

your French girls. Drink me like

wine, like how it looks in the

cartoons. Sanguine jelly

juice in a big

old glass. Smoke me like we’re

from a state that doesn’t

allow anything.


Things That Are Happening               


People are in the alley outside.

If it was

2004 & I had a

mood ring, it would glow

something like cerulean.


I want dinner &

a drink & their cigarettes that

smell like

party nights at other

people’s colleges. I have choices. I

will cook beautiful chicken in beautiful cloudy wine

sauce or I will go to McDonald’s & eat

everything, filling up now

so I can say I loved myself



Tomorrow I am proposing

to my girlfriend

with as few

words as possible.

That’s love.

Beginning where I end.

You cannot stop

me like how thunder is every



My town is too busy. Because of the sea.

I am not who I was.


I am filled with moments.

I dated a girl, slept under a city, missed

Christmases. I was swallowed. Cried

to my mother on New Year’s, I have nothing.


Found something. Bluish hue

like slurred vowels through

your church windows.

Tomorrow is tomorrow, but

tonight I am alone.

I will watch

movies in the dark or I will drink & walk

until I find use for the smell of ocean

in summer. A place

where the sand will sleep down with me.

Or I will sit &

chase my poems around

in their little circles, trying

to find out if who I was

could ever love what

I almost am, &

if I’m only pretending

I care to know the answer.



July 22 


To line my

breaths up with

yours. To drive

all day. Eat dark under

stars. Your hair

down for me, disappearing

beneath the passing

breath of someone

else’s headlights.


Separate us

from morning. From

every moment before

this, like it

happened to someone

else. Mouth like the

moon. Until death,

be excited. Déjà vu

you’ve never had.

The ruinous pleasure

of freshness.