Poetry from J.J. Campbell

Middle aged white man with glasses and a coronavirus mask in his bedroom. Posters on the walls.
endless misery
the humid air
clings to the
of afternoon
endless misery
looks to be the
only highlight
you ever wonder
why your loneliness
seems infinite
why your dreams
are never allowed
to come true
why luck seems
like some fable
told to children
to keep them
why your genius
has been squandered
for pennies
while other dumb
fucks are rolling

in cash
happy poems
an editor once asked
me why i never write
any happy poems
i told her i learned
long ago to only
write what you
any good reader
can see a fake
fucker from

miles away
a morning in the swamp
these endless summer
days where the night is
as sticky as a morning
in the swamp
air conditioning is
something only the
rich have
open a window for a
breeze and it's nothing
but the stench of death
you learned long ago
there is no damn point
in complaining
god moved on from

these parts years ago
a much simpler time
saw the obituary
of the last guy i
bought drugs off
that was so many
years ago now
a much simpler
time than this
not that nostalgia
wins the day
the weed is so
much better these
like going from
black and white
to suddenly owning
a tv the size of the
wall and as clear as

pollution free water