Monday, October 21, 2013

Tom Hatch- A Poem

A Cog in the Gear

The wheel house is on the line
Toasting the other cogs to be
Lube-jobbed-up juice on whisky breath
Rolling into the oil pan of life’s viscosity
A double on the rocks
Dripping into retreat or forward motion
Is the same as long as all the other
Cogs do their job not knowing any names
All the cogs I know are stiff
With a hard on but never
Getting to lay becoming horny rolling
Back down into the viscosity
Of oblivion I am a Mercedes
Or a maybe a Buick at 6:31 in the morning
Undulant down the double yellow lined
Asphalt road to the station getting
On the 6:51 sitting next to all the other cogs
Reading headlined newspapers, electronic
Devises plugged into their brains 
And sleeping the sun flickering in said
Nothing about anyone in the morning
Against yawns only slumping shadows of silhouettes  
Cast on the back of doldrums beige seats


Tom paid his dues in the SoHo art scene way back when. He was awarded two NEA grants for sculpture back then. And taught at various colleges and universities in the NYC metro area in art (including Princeton and U of Penn. in Philly). He he is a regular at The Camel Saloon, Dead Snakes and BoySlut. He has published at The Mind[less] Muse, Jellyfish Whispers, Napalm and Novocain, Rusty Truck and Pyrokinection among others. He lives in CT with a few farms up and down the road works in Manhattan. His train ride to and from NYC is his solace, study and den where it all begins and ends.

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