Burr & whine
from I-55.
The motorcycle
gangs are making their circuit.
I can hear them from my bed,
three quarters of a mile away.
Clad in neon green
kevlar & spandex they
circle the City, lurch and
wheelie in a godawful
blur. How they’re not
all in jail I have no idea, but
maybe it’s because there’s like
two dozen of them screaming by
at 140 m.p.h.
Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category
1:09 A.M. SUNDAY NIGHT
faked by gorjus Thursday, January 20th, 2011SHUTTERS
faked by gorjus Wednesday, January 19th, 2011What’s this she
says. Those are for
storms, we just
screw them down when
it gets rough.
Just plywood? she mumbles,
knocks gently.
She’s from New Jersey.
Yeah, we call them
Biloxi shutters, I laugh as
The rain taps out a
martial beat on
the old window unit.
AW*SHUX
faked by gorjus Tuesday, January 18th, 2011Nobody knows that
we sneak off & lissen
to Chronic Town &
hold hands. You can’t
tell yr sister because she’s
a total rat, and my
dad will kill me.
So we split the headphones
& light Kools one
after the other, we
kick at the kudzu and
have our carnival, of sorts, while
the tape squeaks,
even though we really just
hold hands and I’m
not even sure you even
like me.
Years later you
send me a friend request and
say I always loved your
hair, fussy & black &
curly like an Italian
halo, simple poetry from a
mother of two that
makes me swoon.
POEMS FROM A LOST LEGAL PAD PT. II (FOR DAVE HICKEY)
faked by gorjus Monday, November 15th, 2010I am reading about Hank Williams
and I feel like a jackass.
Dead at 29 with What to Show.
Glories, dozens of them, gold & silver,
bronzed busts—cold hearts and glass-
bottomed
Cadillacs.
Feb. 15, 2010.
POEMS FROM A LOST LEGAL PAD PT. I
faked by gorjus Monday, November 15th, 2010The snowman
was already melting.
But its carrot nose
still rung orange,
still stuck out
high & proud
& cold.
Feb. 15, 2010.
OH! BEES
faked by gorjus Wednesday, October 20th, 2010When I was fat I used to sweat a lot.
I’m not kidding.
I I I mean inappropriately, like
getting out of breath trying
to get out of the car, or having
to wipe yr forehead right after you
start rattling the vegetables around
the wok for stirfry. I
totally had a doublechin, you
can see it on Facebook, even though
in the same pictures I
always have my arm around pretty girls.
So maybe Southern girls
don’t mind fat boys. It’s
totally fucked up. I mean, I don’t think
I eat less now but I don’t
drink a sixer of Miller Lite every day
anymore, that shitty middle class
aperitif, oh let’s stop kidding, we’re totally
poor now, so I changed to Coke Zero, I
tried Diet Coke but it tastes like cancer,
& you can’t listen to Metallica &
drink fucking Diet Coke.
“LOVE’S THEME” BY THE LOVE UNLIMITED ORCHESTRA
faked by gorjus Wednesday, October 20th, 2010When I was four years old
I spent half a week
in a plastic tent,
struggling to breathe, water
dripping on my face.
THE NOVELIST
faked by gorjus Friday, September 17th, 2010The novelist tells me
that I missed out because
I was never fifteen and listening to Simon & Garfunkel’s Greatest Hits
as I fell asleep, dreaming
of America, of poor Julio
scamming down by the schoolyard.
I tell her that boys like me
had no use for Paul Simon once
he stole Princess Leia away from us,
a tiny Darth Vader, black helmets
on bookends.
She laughs and wipes her nose. The
vegetable soup I made is too spicy, there’s
too much pepper, but she laughs and
says it’s a good thing, I am a rock, I am an
island.
FRANCIS ALBERT
faked by gorjus Thursday, September 2nd, 2010They say that Frank Sinatra
(a buffoon to some, Perseus to others)
was an impeccable dresser
(on this there is no debate). Frank was
especially fastidious about his
shoes, dress & otherwise.
Polish and glossy shine a must.
IN GLORIOUS TECHNICOLOR
faked by gorjus Wednesday, August 4th, 2010This one girl got mono
& couldn’t go on the trip, we
didn’t have money to chip in so I
was gonna ride the bench
in study hall
while everybody else
held hands on the back of the bus, but
Ms. Crabtree said that since
the sick kid’s folks had
already paid I could go.
Mom squinted and palmed me
a fortune in quarters and singles,
tip money and pocket change, and
I ate so much pizza at the buffet they
had to pull the bus over, my
cheeks sunburn hot, Ms. Crabtree
held my pony tail as I
puked up six dollars of pepperoni.