Poetry: Selections from George Gad Economou

Death of Hope

languid moments of hope, of

daydreaming—the train left

the station two minutes early—someone rode a

bike to another country to find love—junkies sit

under a bridge, heating their spoons up in the

raging bonfire—million-dollar contracts are shredded and

tossed in the wind—caterwauling from the street below, another

feral invaded the fat cat’s territory—fancy meals in glamour

restaurants, dry martinis for appetizers and expensive

bourbon for dessert—supermodels strut around in

the nightclubs, offering passionate nights in exchange of

a shot of well tequila—behind the dumpsters the heirs

to vast fortunes sleep—dogs have taken over the mansions,

throwing out their abusive owners—burglars sit on crates of

goods—a whiskey still in the basement, working non-stop—nothing

ever makes

sense, expect for when there’s

booze in the glass.

Into the Invisible Jungle

 

traversing the crepuscular

jungles of tomorrow, searching for

answers to yesterday’s questions; still nothing, the

canopy too dense, blocking the

sunlight, hardly anything

makes sense, it’s almost all

right, I’m here and even there, somewhere,

elsewhere, I think, the drink gets

into the brain, it affects

the fingers, the dance of

the keyboard, automatic writing that goes

nowhere and everywhere, like with

junk nirvana, everywhere and nowhere, the place

to be, the only place

to be, here it goes

again another ride on the

roundabout that shall never cease

to twirl and twirl

and twirl.

Wildfire Days

as the beer flows, the river

grows, fires are

sparked everywhere, rekindled

inspiration spreads through

the scorched forests engendering

old new ideas and it’s

usually alright; as the river flows, the

beer grows, old loves

resurface, new passions are kindled, the

night remains young, too young to fuck, and

the beer river flows and grows, a torrent of

insanity that cannot stop, that will

not stop, obliterating

notions like right and wrong, just a tidal wave

that levels cities and new old thoughts.

Enflamed Keyboard

with booze and good

music, the words start

flowing faster, more eagerly appearing on

the bloodstained page. it’s the only

way to write, booze in the head, love and heartache

in the gut, a broken mind that doesn’t want to

remember drunken mistakes and sober sins. words of

truth emerge like enflamed trainwrecks out of

exploded tunnels, black smoke

enwreathes the world, and it’s then

you feel most fine.

George Gad Economou resides in Greece and holds a Master’s degree in Philosophy of Science and supports his writing by doing freelance jobs whenever he can get them. He has published a novella, Letters to S. (Storylandia) and a poetry collection, Bourbon Bottles and Broken Beds (Adelaide Books) and his drunken words have also appeared in various literary magazines and outlets, such as Spillwords Press, Ariel Chart, Fixator Press, Piker’s Press, A Thin Slice of Anxiety, The Edge of Humanity Magazine, The Rye Whiskey Review, and Modern Drunkard Magazine.