Timothy Juhl


In Reno that year,
Marilyn considered
her death; we drown
sometimes, she
whispered and Monty
stared down the
desert highway,
he loved the way
her blonde hair
rolled over her
shoulder. The sun
slung low, the heat
pulsed in waves
and somewhere
Monty heard
the mustangs
chortle and nuzzle,
the brunt and bold
of wild running;
a finish unknown.
Marilyn leaned
out the window,
her famous mane,
brilliant as blasted
sand, celebrated
and toasted, beauty
is a fucking beast,
she said, the taste
of grit and gravel
blown. She wiped
a smudge of grease
from his ruined face.
Hoofbeats, those
horses approaching,
she drowsed.

BIO: Timothy Juhl is currently enduring wedding planning hell somewhere in a fly-over state (Iowa). He shares his home and heart with his two dogs, Joey and Jackson, and his fiance, Matthew. He confesses only to an unnatural obsession with Montgomery Clift and Edward Hopper.

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The views and opinions expressed throughout belong to the individual artists and may or may not coincide with those of the other artists (or editors) represented within the magazine. Hobo Camp Review supports a free-for-all atmosphere of artistic expression, so enjoy the poetry, fiction, opinions, and artwork within, read with an open mind, and comment wisely. Thanks for stopping by the Camp!