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Lemon Ecstasy

Doug van Hooser

Before it became synthetic, a pill one could pop,

I always wanted to swallow ecstasy.

But in my script, I am a minor character.

My lines honeybees, not hornets.

No trumpet solo but a tuba’s repeating two note thump.

Time worn words are shadows 

that wash through gullies 

and fill the retention pond.

Actions that walk to the cliff’s edge 

and peer into a twisted, rock-strewn canyon.

A tailless meteor looking to burn bright

and become meteorite.

Highlights are incandescent bulbs.

The filament flickers and dies.

The Forever Stamps cancelled, 

the envelopes sealed.

I dwell in the well of the past.

A dank musty place

where the only light shines at the end of a tunnel.

Why isn’t it the tropics

where I sleep in a room with a high ceiling,

a fan propelling a welcome breeze.

Instead, I am in a tent, 

curled inside a sleeping bag.

Rain pelts the canvas begging to drown me.

Lemons take their time to ripen 

and are not bitter but sour. 

Doug Van Hooser's poetry has appeared in Roanoke Review, The Courtship of Winds, After Hours, Sheila-Na-Gig online, and Poetry Quarterly among other publications. His fiction can be found in Red Earth Review, Flash Fiction Magazine, and Bending Genres Journal. Doug’s plays have received readings at Chicago Dramatist Theatre and Three Cat Productions. More at

Doug van Hooser
Hope never took the bait

Beth Kephart
Wide Awake at the Dog Hotel

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