Words by Hunter Dawson

Words by my good friend Hunter Dawson




I only hoped I could one day convince the highway to sleep inside my veins
So that even if you lost your road home, you’d still have a way.
And maybe I wouldn’t feel so out of place in my own state
Always waiting on the rain to wash out this old taste.

We used to dance, didn’t we?
And I mean with conversation free of ramparts and not just the way we moved our feet.

The way we would speak. Like maybe something once moved inside you with the same hunger for me
Like lions without teeth begging for heart beats.

I hoped someday, I hoped.

You are not alone in darkness.
I’ve waited for my tongue to press it passed my teeth.
There’s a monster in my belly and in my brain as well
That not even Helios could quell
And besides,
I’m Phaethon at best
Lightning bolts through my chest
Hands pseudo-gripped to reigns against fiery manes

Breathing with regards to death.

I tried to kiss the sky and no one would tell me it wasn’t mine.
Something pushed back.

Culled for cardiac

When you told me you loved me maybe I misunderstood.
A forgotten harvest, the whole kingdom’s starving.
I’ve been planting gardens with hands made of burnt wood.

The night stops for none.
In the midst of stranger’s conversations
For the extent: I am no one.

I only ever wanted to be someone to you
For you

They never tell you how hard it is to write certain words.

When the middle of the East Coast became a love letter

My hair was shorter then
And we let everyone else talk about the weather.
Our conversation was holy
And your laugh was every hallelujah tempo
And not
The choir at the bottom of the ocean telling me to hold my breath.

I am the wolf
With or without
Proving to
The world or myself
I have
A voice.

How many mornings now

Spent reading the obituaries
Expecting at least one of our names?

Now the table holds my coffee cold
As my thoughts linger in the ashtray.

How many mornings now
Moving like a
Between doorways?


I’ve been running through cloves and stacks of smoke.
My minds been put away like a hotel book and I keep finding myself next to the smokestack where the river flows
Hands outstretched, covering myself in dirt and hoping something grows.

“My spine is not a messed tangle of vines. My spine is not a messed tangle of vines. My spine is not a messed tangle of vines…”

I woke up on the riverbank after singing myself to sleep.
I focused my vision and the trees were all staring back at me.
I felt mud dried on my face
When I looked down my hands were clean.

And I thought about you
I’m always thinking about you
And I saw my body as more than just a body
And I saw our bodies as more than just bodies
I felt it like bridges and roots…

Pt. II

I felt it like a calming in my chest
when I whispered your name these forest fires started to spread.

Bless The Fences, Bless The Street

The dogs are howling only two streets away
I’m left staring at the fire in my palms
Dreaming of burning down everything.

The choir sings
& I’m somewhere lost between these hallways

There’s still not enough blood in the psalms
But I keep singing along in my hedonistic ways

I’m still sinking as the bands begin to play

I sang to you songs of the spring
Still imbalanced in the worst kind of way.

I know you’ve forgotten the words,
But I hope you haven’t forgotten what it means.

Maybe the DNA rearranged
You couldn’t quite tell
Who I was anymore

But I still feel the same
In love with your face
Laughter in bits of paint

Maybe you’re over it
Or you just don’t feel it any more

Lungs Like Canopies


We all have voices, but how rarely we use them
More intent to fall content
Thinking we understand
but only entrapped in the confusion

WE ARE NOT EMPTY VESSELS (and this is exactly how I felt the first time you said my name)

There’s a canopy there inside my chest and not a cage
And you’re the bluebird always keeping me awake
Flying along the tree lines that line my veins

(From the outside this might seem strange)
Chemicals, Humans, Faith, Love
It’s all the same.

Repeat after me: we are alive, we are alive, we are alive.
We all have voices (Dear God, why would we waste them on a sigh?)

It doesn’t feel quite right.
I cannot merely whisper your name lest my heart falls through the floor and my tongue burns your bluebird flame. And then that canopy might change turning a forest into a desert
(And we’d be left praying for the rain)

I think I woke up one morning with my brown eyes turned something dark
And I knew we were always this forest fire and not just a spark.
But I feel lost.

I am a temple and not a shipwreck
Hands next to near perfect wrist
(Oh but I think my body, heart, and mind are in a fight)

Do you think birds ever get lost in the sky?


2 Comments Add yours

  1. Donna Padgett says:

    Your poetry is very unique I loved it!


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