A poem from Hunter Hall

I sail by passive
and go straight to aggressive.
My polite clap,
more chilling than any
war horn at dawn.

Picture this:
My blood smeared face
smiling at the wreckage
the carnage.
My dancing feet
over the broken ground
no dance sweeter than
the Watusi.

My humor is a lash,
and if it does not draw blood
it is not funny.
I am my own favorite
Please, admire my flair.
It is the brightest flower in my bonnet.

Do not try to placate me.
I am not the moral
of the story;
I am the foreboding clouds,
the ominous roll of thunder,
the ssnk ssnk of the scythe
felling the wheat,
the held breath
before the arrow flies.
I awaken
to crush dreams
and burn cities to the ground.

Picture this:
A smile so sharp
it can draw blood.
A flash of anger is all it takes
to light my
finest summer bonnet


Hunter Hall

gloriaHunter Hall’s a ferocious poet seen late last century lurking black-hooded about the rainy streets of Seattle. Reading Deleuze&Guattari while slinging brutal mochas, channeling serpents and raw riot through her spoken-word performances, she now lurks somewhere in the Salish Sea, plotting revolution while baking for her children.

All our print and digital works, as well as our stickers, are currently 20% off in our online bookstore. Use code NOWAR at checkout.