Fishhook Theater

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Posts tagged poem

Jan 9

Thanks, Mom

We all find our black Paris number in Paris.

Like so many poets before me.

Keep all limbs inside the car.

The loop is coming up.

We approach.


Oct 23

Terminado

I died. I’m dead by 40.

Life is good, in the way that air, food and water are good;
not in the way that sex, money and booze are good.
[Though most agree booze is a drug, I say “booze” instead of “drugs” because I don’t do the other stuff.]

I was not high on oxygen, nor a glutton, nor a shark;
but I lived and therefore I was good.

[I am close to turning 33 when I wrote this.]

As with most people,
there were more things I didn’t than things I did.

Many of the things I did were things other people also did.
This fact did not measurably affect my thinking,
and I died anyway.

I died anyway, dead as a doorknob
which fell off and killed a dormouse.

The only instruction I left was to dress my corpse as you would any other, with the lone distinction of a scarab beetle tattooed upon my face. “Go ahead and use shiny metallic ink,” I said, “regardless of its potential side-effects. I’m dead anyway.”

[I died of side-effects, by the way, though I couldn’t have known I would when declaring this sole posthumous proviso.]

My only regret is not spending more time composing and editing my greatest work, Terminado.


Sep 18

Safety Bomb

How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?

Better question: how many jerks can ride a pair of coattails?

I bet they don’t even know what coattails are,
and yet they walk upon them.
Coattails are their slip’n’slide,
their earthly cage,
their yellow brick road.

Strike-anywhere matches are becoming increasingly rare.
Their value compares favorably to cigarettes.

Pressure cookers are no good.
Better an open fire and a gummy switch.
Spit the dog and roast it.
Fill the two-liter with marshmallows.

Gawd, baby—I love it.


Aug 29

The Misuse of a Vase

The money won’t do it.
The women won’t do it.

If money and women can’t do it, what can?

If it can’t be done by women or money,
how can we be sure it exists at all?

Think talk.
Talk think.
Talk more.
Think more.

Failure is your only option.
This being the case,
can we really consider it to be a failure?
Yes, but who could levy blame?
And blame, after all, is your main concern.

The negation of the negation:
the sun failed to fail to rise,
the sky failed to fail to fall.

Though you have marked my every word
with a different colored pen,
all inks will fade to white.


Apr 25

Meurtres

rhinoceros horn
covered in blood

box of chocolates 
covered in blood

railroad rail 
covered in blood

discarded nightgown 
covered in blood

café waiter’s service tray 
covered in blood

bank teller’s visor
covered in blood

new roll of duct tape
covered in blood

now empty toolbox
covered in blood

bronzed baby shoes
covered in blood

sophomore yearbook
covered in blood

native headdress
covered in blood

miniature flag
covered in blood

map of Antarctica
covered in blood

first edition Malleus Maleficarum
covered in blood

Sonny Bono 8-track
covered in blood

sticker-less Rubik’s Cube
covered in blood

cigar-cutting guillotine
covered in blood

modern-day woodstove
covered in blood

antique turkey baster
covered in blood

Mickey Mouse candlestick
covered in blood

broken sunglasses
covered in blood

spare key to the mudroom
covered in blood

olive drab canteen
covered in blood

perpetual motion machine
covered in blood


Feb 7
William Blake

William Blake


Jan 20

De Facto

The world is going where?
Power never existed before
Poe and Nietzche got it wrong, then died

We never saw this before:
the chance to make good
where there once was none

Where the sun clips your wings,
where the wind wakes all singers,
there remains the possibility
of cancer in the fingers

One hand is writing while
the other counts its blessings:
six days for every life,
the seventh second-guessing


Dec 21

Forum Poem 4

When I die, I want to be buried on the internet —
woundedknee.org.

Let’s build a house, so we can fill it with assholes;
a house so big, you can only see it from space.

Apart from these ideas, I only ever just had one other one:
to break into a grocery store
and then steal all the crackers.

Why crackers, they would ask,
when there’s beer and ground beef?
You’ll get it, I’d say,
when you come to the feast.
There’ll be music and dancing,
and the funniest person I know will be there;
but the crackers, my friend,
will be something to see
indeed.


Dec 20

Forum Poem 3

Wicked as the Way we walk, Widdershins and Wasted

As the Arrows Aiming after all the Angry Asking

Repay the Ruined Riskers, Raping Roil in the River


Dec 19

Forum Poem 2

I don’t want my friend to give me his money

I don’t want my life to end on a gurney

I don’t want to trade my two cents for a lie

I just want to know there are fish left to fry


Dec 18

Forum Poem 1

My poet’s plight: soft copper in the night air:

spent casing clinks after bold bullet’s brain.

The old ones are still the good ones,

though we’d never know the better

of this reptile’s rhetoric, which is fine with me:

I flick forked tongues like chili-farts,

fire men in the boiler, blaze stockings

back-talking. Each window is a ledge,

each ledge an opportunity

to catch face upon the morrow

a chance to grind that system under me.


Oct 19

My poet’s plight: soft copper in the night air:

spent casing clinks after bold bullet’s brain.

The old ones are still the good ones,

though we’d never know the better

of this reptile’s rhetoric, which is fine with me:

I flick forked tongues like chili-farts,

fire men in the boiler, blaze stockings

back-talking. Each window is a ledge,

each ledge an opportunity

to catch face upon the morrow

a chance to grind that system under me.


Oct 9

The Phage

It swims like a torpedo with legs.

Single-minded.

No mind.

Single purpose: expansion.

A robot of unknown origin.

Crystallized protein on skis.

It marks the return of dread to these walls.

This mania.

These cardioviralia.

Felicity carton twelve times a spunk handler missage report. Best Book of Mormon tickets always.


Sep 20

Upon The

Your words are spit tell / me more

It is not with in / your power to act

To act according / least of which

This sacrifice to reality / the universe(s)

All that is not / your attitude(s)

Each according to his means / this means you

That means me


Jul 7
TO THE GODDESS ON THE DOLLAR
Fair maid, how I have longed for thee,That classic face of thineI feared would never look on me,Much less be wholly mine!And now that thou art mine indeed—In fact my last resource—There comes, alas, through direful need,The time for our divorce!

TO THE GODDESS ON THE DOLLAR

Fair maid, how I have longed for thee,
That classic face of thine
I feared would never look on me,
Much less be wholly mine!
And now that thou art mine indeed—
In fact my last resource—
There comes, alas, through direful need,
The time for our divorce!


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