Brad Hamers

Art as a paradigm shifting tactic.

Poetry from the new book, The Humming Prole


Crusie Ship Sam’s Cult from The Humming Prole - Video by jdaugh

twisted in the cord  (delete heard ‘round the world)

dead torpedos sleep in uniform
red tuxedo, rented to perform
unworn ground mine
undetonated land whale
watch me beach mountains
carrying everything in front of me
and the rented unicorn

miles of stage
killed ographers   of sand stuck in shoes
and creases in the mirage,
with very fine sandpaper,
we carve out our breath for one another
try to ride the same raft
floating in the same rash
in the (insulated) bubble  of blown out symbols
printing paper
cuts for
the already cut in half
catch me climbing beached mountains
watching lighthouses fade
in the industry of gone
in ocean plastic pants
(up to our neck)

deep dog breath
paddle back in  
for charge-less breakfast
chew staples, gnaw attractive clocks
complimentary meet
and drop bones

dead ideas sleep in uniform
undetonated ideas never sleep at all
watch the ticking ground, up underneath you

blood red tuxedo
can feel the ground(up meat) thru the microphone
shock and brimstone hat
hard on the aw and yea
can you feel me trying to tip or float
“i gave it all up for the”
depends on the stage
hope, file, save     (,hope,dial,slave)

(signed,  Plenty Slack Rope)

performer in un-uniform
push heaviest stage
drag bloodiest costume through barely seen and some felt,
the layers of underlayment,   singing for the tips (and thrown life floats)
where the tool hits subject
where the would sands back down to plank

And for those who jump
And for those who jump

shrink ideal
keeping shadows under heel   
bury hurried feelings for the ceaseless stagnant smile
top ten bones to pick  
on the doctor’s playlist
writing yourself off    
washed up under the bridge
smacked with a stack of scripts  ,  a financed fist
up   where paper make sign
(where sign enforces direction)   

the army’s bullets are bourgie
sporting sun hats ’n soaking in pie flavored smoothies
the republic’s jacuzzi weighs a ton
oppressive crown molding and fake scholar sconce
hottest pool heat
we’re dunce
cornered and all me me me
assuming and snooty
child’s pose and doctor’s consult
all that and wolves meat
every bone hung out to dry

real muscle rides in limos
the limited imagination stretched
like a rubberband around a ball of rubberbands
pulls up to the same window
yesterday bounces back like a bad check
cancel police  (the majority of us don’t enforce the books we read)
shade is security for some, power and control a family tree
the majority of us don’t feel the fruit on our branches
the hand in our hands, death was debt to most, living was a payment plan
to owe death (your) life  
when the only way to breath is to exhale

the only way to live is to let go


Pleather Beretta

linen shotgun rancher
came too take his green land back
riding an invisible indian  and combing a pet god
sticking feathers in dead birds
bald on their last good word

cotton handgun rancher
farmer of property  and harvester of great culture
came to, on a capital I sculpture of himself
posing as a building (an aging mini-mall
who identifies as a sky-scraping landmark)
sticking time in dead boxes
coming up bald in camera flashes

silk semi automatic assault farmer
rifling thru earth      with his patriarchal teeth,
red and blue  to the root
property marker for a spear
(home-team skin) (call all wands swords)
pay the pipeliner
dress the drag in unshrinking swords

beg the tip with dollar bills

a two thousand forty pound million

linen oozie Rig
in the middle of the at-lunch-(ick) ocean
full belly swimming in tin foil and cracked pottery
everything stood up on the hairy side of pacified
limp shovels, deflated circles, and all

arms around a sugar cane in a salt suit
anything to make the blood taste better

drops a piece of bread
kiss it up to the fda
to the (approved) harsh-mellow walls 
and swamp-front fema camp views
beg the rip with needles or swords

a fist full of twenty pound millions

a sac of native heads
wool dagger
smallpox farmer
life poacher
bringing the flesh(ed out idea) to a boil
memory-foam revolver
something warm and convenient to sleep at night

copper pepperbox political grazer
came thousands dollar horse and steak(e)
to take back Burn
to vaseline the exploitation
to oil up the oil
in a new dinosaur’s tank
(far from middle)
living nowhere

corduroy switchblade
nylon pick-axe
dollar dad     
drops another piece of bread

fist it up to the empty hole in you
to the noise of the State you fill it with
your custard constitution and whipped c.r.e.a.m.
I was born in this pool, it’s mine
die yourself and you only

thousand thread comfort(er) shotgun
sawed off work-hard fingers and the master’s tongue
lick every word asleep
combing a Algonquin scalp
tilling the rich rock

wearing a paper shirt

thumbs green with blood

  (what are your weapons made of?!)


Famous Light Switch

suicide forest
sadness row
most beautiful sink hole
stubborn tourist in (one of) Yellowstone’s
hot spring(s)
record temperature winter
hopped up on jumping off
golden goose dive, backward swan, into the moving  gate
going under and
coming back up for air
(waiting to be buzzed in)
going under
and staying under
nusle bridge
beachy head
angel of the gap
mount mihara
aokigahara forest
four-mile mr. chen (w/ binoculars)
‘maid of the mist’s bloated side-business
22 veteran falls a day
niagara gap
prince magnet’s viaduct
luminous veil
lover’s leap
so we’ll film it
put up a fence & security cameras
“can I help you in some way?”
“no way to be sure”    
(some same pitch cry)
suicide tourism
(bureaucratic assist)
list of cliffs and hawk nests
‘risk of fatal fall’
broken-neck hotline
‘deliberate jump’
i put my backyard chair in direct line with the Douglas Fir
(over the neighbor &)
across the street
toponymy sky moving quickly behind it
‘state your bridge for the record’
(name all your passed on for the record)

drowned hat
did you tie on rocks
or just take a deep breathe of water
did you tear up in the river
list of tall sweat shops
where we come to a point
dance on it
then jump





Exquisite Corpse 16 (Latent News Redux)

On Oorah 30th, 20AllTeens,  a fence and shovel of two was shot at oink blank range in a relatively quiet gentrified area of Menthol Heights, Spinnesota.

The bacon's name was CoughUpsyrup Everyday Dad, (worked for his dependence, and was loyal to it)  he was Performing a Traffic-Stop-agit-prop piece on a pedestrian who - it was later discovered - was a human being, Dad’s gun didn't even have a chance to grab its head and think.

It could be the super bowl test of self-reliance: Three Skittish pillagers are risking their own lives in the toxic waste oceans they, with good hearts, created,   to now measure the amount of Fire and Melt we have left.

The trademarked PR dream team is on a drunk-tank-stay with a one hundred forks hike ahead of them to their equated estimation of a North or South Pole.   

Any Amy Harms was straight-jacketed and scorched-bathed in rich folk water in 2thousandPreTeen when she ‘poor-commuted’ past Clobb County cops who were questioning a wake of buzzards circling over a (thrown out) piece of the american pie.

Audio from one of the Clobbers, recorded on the nightstick’s dashcam, has the apple in him saying, “This isn’t really happening.”

While the butter soft ‘fuck the police’ stampede continues into co-opted gravy, the false narrative that the world can take it’s own temperature waits for scientist’s nurses to spread their ass cheeks, global paradigmatic consciousness change  - still warm reports show the military has crusaded beyond the debate.

The Only Press reports today that “to the slave’s masters, the debate over cultural change is long dead.”


We now know that The Inevitable Convict was more misunderstood than a menace or martyr, but that won’t stop Limp fingers from pushing grubby money buttons and apologetically singing “this hugged tree will be my house,”  (in the named key of “Help.”)

The need somebody teen in BurningSun, MissedJourney, allegedly robbed a high thief, attacked a white slice of bread and was made toast (cremated) while resisting false arrest.


“On July 30, 2014, a husband and father of two was shot at point blank range in a relatively quiet residential area of Mendota Heights, Minnesota.”
“The man’s name was Officer Scott Patrick, and he was performing a traffic stop on a driver who—it was later discovered—was a wanted fugitive. Patrick didn’t even have a chance to grab his gun.”   ——
“It could be the ultimate test of human endurance: Three British explorers are risking their lives in subzero temperatures to measure the melting Arctic ice cap.”
“The team is on a three-month, 621-mile (1,000-kilometer) hike to their final destination at the North Pole.”    ——
“Amy Barnes was jailed and held in solitary in 2012 when she called out "fuck the police" as she bicycled past Cobb County cops who were questioning a suspect by the roadside.”
“Audio from one of the officers, recorded on the cruiser's dashcam, has him saying, "That ain't happening.”   -—
“While the corporate media continues to keep alive a false narrative that the world's scientists are still divided over global climate change - new reports show the military has moved beyond that debate.”
“The Associated Press reports today that "to the world's military leaders, the debate over climate change is long over."  -—
“We now know that Michael Brown was much more of a menace than a martyr, but that won’t stop liberals from pushing an anti-police narrative that harms the black poor in the name of helping them.”
“The black teen in Ferguson, Mo., robbed a store, attacked a white police officer and was shot dead while resisting arrest.”  -—


Older books by Brad Hamers:

(Click the titles below each image for more info)