PULP: A Manifesto by Jerrod E. Bohn
Pulp: A Manifesto is a lyrical poetry collection by Jerrod E. Bohn.
Let's play hopscotch over your pill-bottles. I don't care if you're menstruating. That loose little one in the corner needs screwed, or a table w/ three legs will have to do. Swill-bucket; you read contemporary poets by the fish ton. The "Voice of My Generation's" face tattooed on your ass, & that scares me b/c once in Mexico I dreamed I was this black kid named Larry Lazarus. I wanted to break the Voice's glasses, the Voice who orated every proto-millennial's Sunday morning jazz & shizzle. Privilege is knowingly eating the last butterscotch sea salt caramel one last time. That's why Larry, a captive audience, wanted to punch the Voice in the larynx, which would have lost us another generation.
Poetry/ 978-1-947021-65-5/ September 25, 2018
Pulp: A Manifesto is a lyrical poetry collection by Jerrod E. Bohn.
Let's play hopscotch over your pill-bottles. I don't care if you're menstruating. That loose little one in the corner needs screwed, or a table w/ three legs will have to do. Swill-bucket; you read contemporary poets by the fish ton. The "Voice of My Generation's" face tattooed on your ass, & that scares me b/c once in Mexico I dreamed I was this black kid named Larry Lazarus. I wanted to break the Voice's glasses, the Voice who orated every proto-millennial's Sunday morning jazz & shizzle. Privilege is knowingly eating the last butterscotch sea salt caramel one last time. That's why Larry, a captive audience, wanted to punch the Voice in the larynx, which would have lost us another generation.
Poetry/ 978-1-947021-65-5/ September 25, 2018
Pulp: A Manifesto is a lyrical poetry collection by Jerrod E. Bohn.
Let's play hopscotch over your pill-bottles. I don't care if you're menstruating. That loose little one in the corner needs screwed, or a table w/ three legs will have to do. Swill-bucket; you read contemporary poets by the fish ton. The "Voice of My Generation's" face tattooed on your ass, & that scares me b/c once in Mexico I dreamed I was this black kid named Larry Lazarus. I wanted to break the Voice's glasses, the Voice who orated every proto-millennial's Sunday morning jazz & shizzle. Privilege is knowingly eating the last butterscotch sea salt caramel one last time. That's why Larry, a captive audience, wanted to punch the Voice in the larynx, which would have lost us another generation.
Poetry/ 978-1-947021-65-5/ September 25, 2018
