Monday, August 31, 2009

RCA Victor Warning Label: Caveat Canem

Beware the blunted needle- beware the Jabberwock!
A blunted or chipped needle
a chipped tooth? A needle already used? Draw the blood up, into yourself
can permanently damage your can permanently damage you
most valuable records lock box! lock down! safehouse!
A worn needle no sharing, please
will impair what won’t impair? What substance abuse won’t impair?
the quality of the sound reproduction
quality of life, corrupt DNA now infinitely spiraling off
you hear you hear nothing! You can’t even hear your own heartbeat-
Make sure your needle is in good condition how? How if you don’t test it?
Put the point to flesh and prick skin? How? Drysuit contaminent biohazard fears
before you play just pass the j, pass the blow, pass the horse
the record there are no records subrosa no trace no shadow man following
If in doubt all there is, is doubt have it checked
by the hatcheck girl who holds the bag for the puppet chest of wannabees in their fedoras
by your dealer NUFF SAID
or buy a new needle.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

They banned kites.
‘Too distracting to vehicular traffic' as it careens down onto the Belt Parkway.
But once upon, the sky was a crayola pastiche.
Laying here, at the end of nowhere, two Japanese box kites dance,
the cherry blossoms framing their tails, sky so close.
Smaller here, at the Gardens, bits and pieces of scent hover, gardenia, roses, rot, heavy.
How do the kites stay up in the hevy air?
Before they had an ocean. Swallows, diamonds and yes the ubiquitous Japanese box kites,
elaborate flying machines lost in a blue so big the steamers passing underneath were toys.
Curlicue tails tickle me, wrap around my big toe and sink their teeth in.
I hold the tendrils, up here, where I can touch the roof of the world and mourn the finite space below

Grammatically Incorrect

They string together as many adjectives, adverbs, helping verbs, subordinate clauses as they can, hoping to make something, anything, that looks like something, anything from the hollow insides, polysyllabic language and twisted metaphor masquerading as truth justice and the american way.
Obfuscation is cellophane, reversed order and pronouns unrelated to any noun, proper, concrete, common, abstract or otherwise, earlier or later mentioned.
It's the emperor's new clothes.
If they read it, can they understand it?
If they can't understand it, will they give it an award?
If they give it an award, will it go in an anthology?
If it goes in an anthology, will it be revered by the ages?
If it is revered by the ages, will they read it? Does it matter if it says nothing?

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

We're Not in Kansas Anymore

Ellis Amber-Eyes stares out,
little girl lost in a bed of poppies
perchance to sleep, perchance to dream.
The Scarecrow and the Tinman
Brainless and Heartless, leave her there.

How could anyone be so stupid, leaving a child alone, unprotected
in a world of backed up sewage and mold encrusted corners?
How could anyone be so cruel, leaving a child alone, unprotected
trails of candy and lost kitties to be found?

But Ellis Amber-Eyes, smooths the grassy knoll, lays herself down in the poppies,
thick scent cozy tucked up to her chin.
She won't remember her dreams.

If she's lucky.


I wonder. Is that arrogance, for me to wonder?
Is it?
Am I so self-important, so self-righteous that I dare to wonder?
Because I do not wonder
quaking in my seat
tongue buckshot riddled to useless
arms and hands and fingers spasming in envy desire to hold their own
legs tense, feet squelching invisible mud in glee.
No, I do not wonder, feeling any of that.
I do not wonder ‘awesome'

I wonder, what's the point?
Are you trying to con me with gussied up plastic filigree flatware?
So yes, I am presumptuous, insolent, puffed up.
I am proud, drunk on my own oxygen laden blood cells.
I'll hold my words against yours, raise an eyebrow in disdain and walk away, thinking,

Every Breath You Take

Hummingbird heartbeats,
same beats as mine, that's word count.
Four, three, two, one. TIME!

My Right Foot

My third toe, right foot,
It's name is Bill. It still moves
any way I want.
But one day, maybe
soon, or not, it won't.


He struts, shakes his pompadour back, preening, I think.
I can't be sure because he's so far away
but it looks like preening to me anyway.
Last time I saw him,
He was biting her neck, hard,
while he bent her over, spread her legs with his knees and fucked her.
She didn't say a word, just stared out into nothing,
and after, staggered away, numb, perhaps bemused by the experience.
Now, he preens,
makes himself pretty for another one.
"Hi, have we met, you sure are cute, anything you want, I can get you.
Why don't you come over here?" and wham!
Another one. Another notch in his asshole belt.
I sit here, sipping my tea, watching out the window.
Ducks aren't so different from people

Thursday, August 6, 2009

so i started ANOTHER blog