Dustin Holland

Dustin Holland lives in Longmont and runs Don’t Yell at Me, a poetry reading/concert series with his friend Connor Magyar. When he grows up, he either wants to be two dimensional or a basset hound running in slow motion. 


ten hundred rat spiders
came screaming out the gate
and pouring down the hallway
past me and when i close
my eyes, i hope it’s a
kitchen. and when all
is said and done
i hope that we can stay
a little longer

her blood scone jewelry
and powdered sugar clothes
hang tired from her hips and
shoulders like in the
death of superman
but its ok
we’re only dreaming

and when i close my eyes
the sounds from the side
of the road i have been
walking on w/out noticing
consume me and i taste
water like a dog

Beaglist Love Poem #1

I lock every door I meet
at least three times and start
walking through the
great value-plex township
I live in w/ tiny feet on each of
my fingers and tiny hands
on each of their toes
all wriggling in different
directions to form a bowl
for where the moon’s reflection
would be if we were water or the
hood of a car parked at a 30 degree
angle on the hill leading
up to your childhood
home where once I was
visited by a polk-a-dot deity in
grease-stained robes
w/ breath like the sort
of chai tea they drink in black and
white movies
where today I am standing
Just inside the front door
which I promise is locked
wearing a t-shirt that just says
GORCH in green letters or maybe
either way it is definitely a GORCH t-shirt
and the door is definitely locked
so I don’t have to worry about
locking the door and
I walk down the hill
w/ my moon bowl finger toes
in hand and past the parked car
which is also a moon bowl
and also made out of fingers but still
gets like 90 miles to the gallon
even when its parked and
at the bottom of the
hill I meet 100 beagles.
and the beagles are screaming
and they know all about me
and where I’m going
and the piles of comic books
waiting for me
on a twin sized mattress
in a house w/ broken floors
and they promise to get to me first
and their teeth are switchblades
giving pause only to the sound of the
finger car cranking the engine
down the hill and you are shouting
while the passenger side door grabs me
and we are shouting
and driving off a half-built bridge
into a pool of sky-stuff and future things

Dustin Art
“fantasyland holds on forever and ever good night” by Dustin Holland

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