impossible promises

eyes boiling
in their sockets
the boy
crashes into his pillow

i don’t want to be
a lingering breeze
in the night

hot tears
hands trembling
impossible promises
conceived in rage
he drifts

i will leave howling
dripping red
i will leave mocking

his tangled
nicotine hair
a halo
he knows better
than to dream

the world will know
and it will slump
to its knees


Tim Hatch lives in a secret volcano headquarters somewhere in the South Pacific, where he controls the world economy and writes confessional poetry about his disappointing childhood.

His poetry has been published in MungBeing, East Jasmine Review, The Pacific Review, The Vehicle, Touch: The Journal Of Healing, Apeiron Review, and he is the recipient of the 2014 Felix Valdez Award.

He finds writing about himself in the third person to be an overtly seductive invitation to tell lies.

He once captured a French Eagle at Talavera.