Montpelier Song
I used to go to The Black Door
every Friday to see Nicole.
She was tall
and slightly nordic
or nordic once removed,
a nose like a golden shovel
of all the best lines,
eyes in a dream state
cor cordium,
fearful symmetry.
One night when the streets were dead
and the moon like a lonely cab
I got drunk
and asked her to go to Iceland
and she said
stop being cryptic —forget
Iceland.
I’m yours, presently.
The music is good
and the snow
undressing
with just the right amount
of emotional
catastrophe.
Damon Hubbs is the poetry editor at Blood+Honey and The Argyle Magazine. He’s the author of the full-length collection Venus at the Arms Fair (Alien Buddha Press, 2024). Recent publications include Horror Sleaze Trash, Cajun Mutt Press, Revolution John, The Gorko Gazette, Hobart, and others. His next book, Bullet Pudding, is forthcoming from Roadside Press in 2026. He lives in New England.
