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.