We Could Be Worse

“Quit the noise and write a symphony. My sympathy is finite and you might do better to radiate melody.”   Forgive me if it grates but we can’t all be happy. Never mind symphonies, I can barely compose myself. I only decompose. It’s hard to sing about smelling the roses when all I can picture […]

Read more "We Could Be Worse"


I am displacement, a conflicted conscience at odds with consciousness. Self-effacement taken to the extreme debases that which is human, and so I ruminate on my futility inside a one-bedroom tomb. Emptiness consumes you since you can’t breathe in a vacuum. – © Sam Hunt, 2018

Read more "Company"

Thank God for Hangovers

This distraction saves me from myself. I can’t remember yesterday or why I hate myself. I’m truly in the moment, and long may it continue. Long may these hangovers supplant this misery. Long may these drugs be a better struggle. – © Sam Hunt, 2018

Read more "Thank God for Hangovers"

Hold You Better

In my most evolved form we could recharge in my arms until the storm passes. Thoughts of drastic action can be buried in the past and we could be fearless. We could be powerful. For now I’ll watch the hours pass and be grateful. – © Sam Hunt, 2018

Read more "Hold You Better"


Let’s talk. Let’s kiss. Let’s walk on water and miss each other’s hands. Let’s get lost. Let’s find home. Let’s acquiesce to the wind’s commands. Let’s not run from talks of marriage. Let’s check in our baggage and stow it out of sight on a flight that never lands. – © Sam Hunt, 2018

Read more "Someone"

Sewing Mailbags

Visitors are intermittent. Their vision is restricted by the prison staff who inject them at reception. Blindfolded and vaccinated against asking the wrong questions, they see me briefly. I tell them that I’m fine, then lie by telling them I’m pushed for time.   Once they leave I retreat slyly to the squalor and security […]

Read more "Sewing Mailbags"