...aus/ chuck e. cheese/NASA
Panel
Nothing but chair-songs, she said. She board-style. This is academic Rigor mortis. Sidestep my too-high chair. Lick my face with your rock candy tongue. Feel the burn baby. Let me remind you. I can’t eat with these sutures. Indian sunburn, up and down her arm. That’s the Natural American Spirit! A committee. Render me: useless, a judgment, a drawing:: a boy, half hair, half molten, tree-tight, lite-bright, yard sale-style. We are wholesale deformities.
Style
what hat fits this heat? I would like to be ocean liner for a day. keep the tears to a minimum. we are crying softly into coarse pillows. don’t let the dirt in, oh no. you let it in. coat my gelatin face with dirt blush and let us have a pinecone war. we are the children of immense and intolerable violence. we are the tolerant generation. why no makeup today? the maquiladora factories kept me awake all night. we must protect this house. breakdown.
Liner
sink-style left of the ocean. we must protect this pool from angry politicians. stereotype man says line-her up and let-her rip. write me a letter that contains: misguided statements of love, hyperbole, some symbols universally understood:: a child with a too convex belly, disfigured hands of a woman in her twenties::: she is at least forty given American standards. the gold standard.
Angry
A rumbling in the holly bushes. A livening. She said he said a mighty mess was made. We are the bakers, this, our sugar. confectioner-style. powder me up and lets get going. A prickle for a nickel. don’t be cute. Emanating from the bush this is my demesne, leave! She said, a lisp how cute. Don’t be. Powder songs, jingles, definite edges blurred. We are the most reliable narrators in this domain. a berry, a poisonberry. We are the bakers of the most remarkable boysenberry pies you ever seen and don’t worry ‘bout that spill or the child under the sofa trembling.
2 comments:
i like prose poems. i like these prose poems. ryan are you writing a series of prose poems. i would like to read a series of prose poems if you have them ryan send them to me.
sometimes santa claus reminds me of a goat who doesn't know how to stop peeing on his own beard.
i once played air hockey with chuck e. cheese himself. CHUCK E FUCKING CHEESE. he kicked my ass.
NASA. fuck nasa. space travel is a stupid nunfuck of an idea. that last sentence is the title of a poem i have yet to write maybe.
i am writing a series of poems for danielle pafundas class. also for my own well being. when it nears completion i will send it to you. you can grade it. pretend i am in you freshmen comp class.
i visualize chuck e. cheese watching acts of horrific violence and holding his paw up to his mouth and chuckling with his slightly downward cast head bobbing. i always think of this.
NASA is fucked.
santa claus is an astronaut. were he a cosmonaut things might be different. alas, he is not.
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