Damon Hubbs

Tell me, Flora, where’d I put my dish of pears
Tell me about sirens and suicides
and the French poet with wine in her bra
Did she drive her Citroen into the seven stone houses on Huguenot St
Is Shay still in the triple-decker stacking pancakes in her lingerie
Is Nicole still painting saddles and Georgian beds. She was talented
but bad at love and fame
Tell me about my special fate and Plato’s uterus
and the marriage of heaven and earth
Why I dream of making love to a one-legged woman
Why I shout Europa at the cows upstate
Why Tom pinched my collection of orange Penguins
and sold it to the bookstore with the eyebrow window
Did I mistake Delhi for Delphi, allusion for illusion
bridle for bridal
Has fingering gone the way of cursive
—a lost art, a dead language, adrift
and mislaid. Tell me, Flora
does her face still have the golden freckles
Does the future know what we need?

Damon Hubbs is a poet from New England. He’s the author of three chapbooks and a full-length collection, Venus at the Arms Fair (Alien Buddha Press, 2024). Recent publications include Farewell Transmission, Apocalypse Confidential, Don’t Submit!, The Gorko Gazette, Horror Sleaze Trash, andothers. His poems have been nominated for the Pushcart and Best of the Net.