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Dog Boy & Boris in the Trees
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Dog Boy & Boris in the Trees

two poems by Sebastian Hunter

sebastian hunter
Aug 05, 2024
∙ Paid
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Little Engines
Little Engines
Dog Boy & Boris in the Trees
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Good morning.

I’m thrilled to share the work of newcomer Sebastian Hunter today. Following the poems, you’ll find a brief Q&A. I ask about his Longmont Potion Castle t-shirt.

Darkest days of the drought, the midseason collapse of a middle school soccer team: I can find no comfort in games.

IRL: If you’re in the Pacific Northwest, stand by for news on MORNING, FUCKERS #2. The early-bird reading series returns in September, this time in Portland!

- 🖤AV

Little Engines is free online and in print, but consider a paid subscription. It puts money in the hands of writers and artists, and unlocks Little Extras here on the ’stack. Alternatively, you can hit the tip jar or buy a hat.

DOG BOY
by Sebastian Hunter

Darkest days of the drought,
the midseason collapse
of a middle school soccer team:
I can find no comfort in games.
Desolation sweeps through town
like a Killdozer
through the burnished brick of city hall.
A creature known as Dog Boy
has been photographed crying
in black-and-white on the front page of the paper.
Dog Boy has a love in his heart
for every living thing.
I take up him up to the Ferris wheel’s apex.
I feed him burgers and fries as night falls.
A harsh wind from a dark cloud
ruffles my hair and his fur.
Satellites blink at us from above
and Dog Boy blinks back, Morse code:
Lord, forgive us our sins,
and let me meet one day a Dog Girl.

BORIS IN THE TREES
by Sebastian Hunter

I made an uncomfortable home for myself
in the Great North Woods.
Many of my friends called me the first
President of Russia, but what do they know?
Can they tell north from south?
Can they whittle a Rubik’s Cube
out of soft driftwood? I am tall enough
to step over purposeless fences,
the fences that keep us safely removed
from wilderness. Around this time,
I began to dry out. There was nothing
to drink and no taxicabs to hail.
In the woods there was nothing yellow at all.
Still, I teemed with inner complexities.
I understood the forest in a holistic sense,
recognized my anodyne place
fifteen feet above the floor. But no matter
how hard I tried to forget about the park service,
they were always singing radio songs
just out of my earshot, uniformed
and wearing impossibly stupid hats.

Reading on your phone? Here are the intended line-breaks.

Sebastian Hunter is a writer and musician from Seattle. He makes maps for a living. His work has appeared in JAKE, Roi Fainéant, and Bombfire.

LITTLE EXTRAS: Three questions for Sebastian Hunter

What poets are you reading? What do you think? What about non-poets?

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