My Grandfather passed away last night. Yesterday was the first good day he’d had after a week of excruciating pain. I’d rather he be gone than in pain. And I’d rather he be gone than in serious decline, the way he had been for the past 6 months. But I really hate this and I really miss him.


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.

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