2/16/2017 0 Comments Two poems by Christopher HopkinsStreetlight witnesses The steel shows its weakness at speed. Their arms and legs as brittle as the storks wrapped in cellophane, placed at the end of the parallel sway. An action burned into asphalt. Tiny daggers of colored glass, that came to rest against the gutter and curb, like confetti thrown on a marriage of death, though they were known as girlfriend and son, reported, printed, paper thin. Quicksand cocktail juice I rolled awake at the feet of gods. Blessed and cooked. Dressed in black, and like a clapping hand inside me, just below the ribs to the right. Bruised lines of finger grips, my Sargent stripes, across both shoulders, and kisses which broke the lip. The blood still tasted liquor high. I'm a white omelette. Plateau'd and served. Good Morning to the Mischief. God bless today. Bio: Christopher Hopkins, was born and raised in Neath South Wales, surrounded by machines and mountains, until he moved to Oxford in his early twenties. He currently resides in Canterbury and works for the NHS. Chris has had poems published in Rust & Moth, The Journal, Anti-Heroin Chic, Tuck Magazine, Dissident Voice magazine, the online literary journal 1947, Transcendent Zero Press and Duane's PoeTree. Two of his early e-book pamphlets "Imagination is my Gun" and "Exit From a Moving Car" are available on Amazon.
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