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Henry Goldkamp

By January 31st, 2023No Comments

the ashcan speaks

The moon in lonely alleys make

A grail of laughter of an empty ash can

—Hart Crane

first time i ever saw you
i thought
i heard this one before


giant night dont need your beauty mark
shitbum balloon. deflate
your pap flat n fuck your boots

n fuck your walk too
no one says nothing new
say when can anyone say something new?

i wish i were a phase like you


me too. drunk. glued to this shore 


oh what is it called





thats it!


so many nights
leaving me nothing
bubbling on spoons

forking lilacs in my mouth
i do not table
w/ frequency 

loon they call me


you cross me the type
to feed a twenty in the laundromat change machine
just to get your jollies

off the sound of a jackpot


who ran away again?
n w/ who?
i dont read your tabloid

do you?


getting stabbed
w/ the fashionable scrapnel
of my american flag? 

id like that too
you little dreamy fuckbeak


bingewatching us
from your public fold


i got god
bless america stuck

up in my head! 






imma dress n my best
werewolf suit 

your lily soupcan throat
yet by claws


here they rip
aubades all cade
n whimprin

as sure as
the day is light



wow the minivan dash blinks with military time.
wow anything helps on the back of a real estate sign.
wow the rims still spinning.

wow windshield.
wow bird.

wow the cadillac calliope in the hot white lot.
wow the polaroid breathes air into the naked knot.
wow intrastate blowing a cherry back in the eye.

wow the engine twinkles little stars.
wow hangdog story whimpering with dream.

wow that jackass is fatidic.
wow glue traps destine the path of the rat.
wow crabgrass begets more crabgrass.

wow the nightstand recalls each smiley glass.
wow loadbearing walls and the doubt that comes with.

wow a deer ear frozen on the sound of a leaf.
wow the horse doing what you want.
wow the wealth of clover in a girl’s jumper.

wow these colors do run.
wow a city of fire ants hot with rush hour.

wow the blue-juiced cross over the calendar square.
wow dry-erase graves.
wow the glossy pomeranians who pant over these days.

wow the oscillating fan who shakes its wire head no.
wow the hot tub green with january.

wow the tweety bird t-shirt a jellyfish.
wow the plastic bag a kite of end times.
wow the earth scarfing a shed right back down.

wow the air is super breathable.
wow dead-floating atop a chemical river.

wow trees seizure with fall.
wow this drink is for me.
wow the black eye unpurples pretty quick considering.

wow how yellow the twin-pop how banana.
wow shampoo can go bad.

wow water gets into walls.
wow the postcard ocean looks like coolant.
wow the sun drinks.

wow this highball really works wonders.
wow a castle made of sand.

wow the fisherman said he’d catch a whale with a watermelon.
wow lemonade in an instant.
wow the chainlink sags into a smile.

wow water is a choking hazard.
wow the canoe nopes on out.

wow band-aids on the knees of trees.
wow two nubs up.
wow the nightmare brays the hinterland of campiness.

wow the price of lumber.
wow the siren whorl singing through a stud-finder.

wow the books look like chickens in a cardboard box.
wow the hen laughs as its neck is snapped.
wow the child asked to prove his smarts said quack. 

wow a condom a blunt wrap a ketchup packet skitters.
wow the marquis spit out all its vowels.

wow the brick makes a point through the picture window.
wow the bib of the street.
wow the bowling alley sells food.

wow quarters soggy in with fat hands.
wow the vending machine light.

wow the rectangular mother.
wow the news tells of a bullet a hair to the right.
wow a dollar stretches.

wow the hardware store needs no proof of purchase.
wow the power drill rips through the slightest hand.

wow the ratchet straps always need taming.
wow the weed-eater is bulimic.
wow that rocket is a screamer.
wow a man on the moon on a television set at night.
wow trees talk a big game come spring.

wow the ladder has no fear of heights.
wow the drywall stilts become you.
wow the tattoo didn’t hurt.

wow the ambulance is surefire healthcare.
wow the blackish smear of mosquito.

wow the circular saw’s clean teeth.
wow shrimp cocktail.
wow chilicothe chic.

wow a tire fire fighting off any bit of winter.
wow a spare lightbulb.

wow piss in the chalice of a saw-zalled pole.
wow picking up sticks is a game.
wow everyone in the room is asking for a light.

wow the bleachers got blessed by a preacher.
wow sitcoms really get it.

wow disability flows into an arm.
wow no one complains unless absolutely necessary.
wow vegetables act.

wow a lower-back tattoo red with eczema and spank.
wow pews make good kindling in a pinch.

wow the greyhound is people-scented.
wow wholesome glory wants to make good time.
wow we better get a move on.





Henry Goldkamp rehearses his poetics out of a small garage in New Orleans. His poetry appears most recently in Narrative, Indiana Review, the minnesota review, DIAGRAM, Denver Quarterly, and Best New Poets 2021. His public art projects have been covered by NPR and Time, and he reads poems for Tilted House, The Adroit Journal, and Bayou. More and more at