Hills Hoist vol. 5 Poetry

The tent tattered, slogans / peeling, placards stacked like firewood.

Kermit’s froghood / was affirmed as early as 1965. When is everybody else’s turn?

in the summer / of bay noon slumbers / a briny breeze / swallows our swollen lyrics

The camera in my living dream’s of chromed and solid brass.

This young gun from Ray White / goes door-to-door Your house could go for one-point-five million, he looks / eager for a pat on the head

Does the mouth hold a memoir better than the mind?