Anthem #34, "Who's that Boyd?"
Model: Boyd Holbrook
Photographer: Leonard Grego
Three of Boyd's poems:
leather eye lids,
fine steel hair,
flower peddle teeth,
paper cut wrinkles,
read between the line thoughts,
and this is me.
Empty head enemies follow me
as I chase the sound of the symphony.
so unbearably delightful that they want
to associate with me.
The sounds of violins crept through the vents,
a voice crawls up the wall
and tears crawled down my chest.
Love makes a puddle...
Sounds like something mumbling above me.
My teeth hold in my screams
the pressure pops open my jaw and I finally scream.
Sweat petals touch.
Please, go forth you loved too much,
whispers only the blessed can hear.
Transcend we are no longer able to relate.
I hibernate in dark silence insisting that she will
return with the gift of the morning sun.