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posted : 2004.Oct.26 @ 8.48pm
This one is not quite finished, but I think it is close.
___________________________________________________________________________________

Providers

Ants stream out of the wall,
across the counter, and into the sink.
They want the leftover lasagna. I'd let them have it,
but my wife says, "They're dangerous.
They'll take over the house. They might crawl up
the baby's nose, into his sinuses. He could die."
She sprays them down with a poison-free killer.
The active ingredient is mint.

Disorderly. Out of line.
The ants stumble back to the wall.
I've been there ~ convulsing, late for dinner,
leaving a slick trail of food and humiliation.
Still, I always made it home.
These guys are hopeless.
Drunk. Dead. Whatever.
The lasagna is still in the sink.
The queen's going to be pissed.

~ V ~







posted : 2004.Oct.27 @ 5.12pm
Love.
You must do something for me.
Have Rychard record you reading these.
Your reads are so so so damn good. These pieces
are so much the sweeter to me because I can hear
you reading them. It would be good to get your
works on audio all nice and sample-able. Very Happy

You could drop a link to the spoken version of each.
Only good will come of it. Ponder...







posted : 2004.Oct.28 @ 5.54pm
Yes I agree completly.

I will put a state of the art recording studio and a professonal engineer (me), at you disposal for free whenever you wish. (no pressure...) Cool







posted : 2005.Jan.23 @ 12.01am
The inspiration for this next piece can be found here:

http://homepages.wmich.edu/~cooneys/poems/Field.frankenstein.html

and here:

http://movieweb.com/dvd/dvd.php?082551739523

___________________________________________________________________________________

Frankenhooker
~ For Edward Field

The suburban mad doctor, who is really an electrician,
sees his overweight fiancee kill herself with a remote controlled lawn mower.
She goes to pieces in the grass ~ big messy pieces.

He saves her head and comes up with a plan to bring her back to life.
It involves a lot of electricity and some estrogen-based jelly.
He uses Playboy centerfolds for blueprints.
He figures, "If I'm going to bring her back, she may as well be stacked."

Unlike the Baron, he sets his sights on the living for replacement parts.
He doesn't even consider a trip to the cemetary.
The nearby city is a huge salvage yard full of hookers, well equipped
and eager to sell their parts.
In his garage/laboratory, he manufactures the bait ~ Super Crack.

He drives into the city and makes a deal with Zorro the pimp,
nine of "the best girls in town" upstairs for an hour.
He brings a stethoscope and measuring tape.
"This leg is perfect," he says.
He puts a check mark on the most appealing ass.
One of the hookers finds the crack. The pipes come out,
and the women start acting like kids with rock candy.
They get so high that they explode.

Breasts, legs, and heads scatter across the room.
The mad doctor puts the choicest parts in plastic bags and goes home.

My wife gets up from the couch and turns off the VCR.
"This is so sexist," she says.
She looks pissed, so I nod in agreement,
then without thinking, I say, "But, it is kind of funny."
I clamp both hands over my mouth.
Too late.

She falls apart.
Her arms drop to the carpet.
Her breasts bounce off the coffee table and land at my feet.
Both of her legs continue standing on their own.

Her head floats in front of me, reciting a litany of feminist verse.
She quotes each and every one of the saints of oppressed women:
Betty Friedan, Kate Millett, Susan Faludi, Mary Daly...

I dig into the fabric of the couch and beg for forgiveness.
She gives nothing.
Somehow she manages to collect herself
and stomps out of the room.

I sit staring at the closed door. It won't open.
I pick up the remote control for the VCR.
Maybe the mad electrician with know
how to put things back together.

~ V ~







posted : 2005.Jan.24 @ 1.45pm
>> More Frankenhooker

Another good one, Mr.... Wayne is it?
Did we see that together for the first time or had you seen it before?
I have such great memories of seeing the craziest films with you....
Frankenhooker, Santa Sangre, Dr. Calagari, Dead Alive and Begotten!!!
I'm sure there were more Very Happy







posted : 2005.Feb.10 @ 8.59pm
I Am Kind Of Naive When It Comes To Death

Hemingway described it as a stinking bastard,
gangrene in Africa ~ a thing with foul breath.
I guess that explains why people in the movies
always grimace and wave thier hands in front of their faces
whenever they find the dead guy in the alley,
the backyard, the basement.

The only dead man I've ever touched smelled like the ocean.
It took three of us to pull him out of the water and onto the rocks.
We laid him out in the sun, and someone called for an ambulance.
I put my ear to his mouth to make sure he wasn't faking.
I pressed down on his chest,
and he spoke water.

~ V ~







posted : 2005.Jul.24 @ 10.29pm
One of my students emailed me and complained about how long I have been out of service here. I have been cleaning out my office and have found some material. I have promised myself that I will write some things this summer. It is hard with two small children. It is all so frantic and surreal. I am becoming a regular at the wading pool. This piece was accepted for publication once upon a time, but I do not think it ever really made it to press.
___________________________________________________________________________________

What the Birds Know

I bring a ladder into the bedroom
and set it up beneath the loft. I step
on a stuffed owl and almost lose my footing.

Our floor is a mess ~ a patchwork of bottles,
books, empty glasses, night clothes,
toys, and dirty sheets.

I climb above it and see a collage ~ three lives intertwined.
I flew over L.A. in an airplane once.
That was the one time it ever made sense to me.

My wife comes into the room and lays our son down
on the floor. He fits perfectly. He is six weeks old.
He looks smaller than he really is.

One day I will show him
how to look at the world. I will teach him
the importance of climbing trees.
___________________________________________________________________________________

~ V ~







posted : 2005.Aug.04 @ 10.57pm
What Passes For Irony In The Suburbs

Only the grass
Immediately surrounding the sprinkler
Is dead.



~ V ~







posted : 2005.Aug.08 @ 1.23am
Waiting

in a room full of sick children,
worried parents, clipboards, and closed doors.

The little ones get cut in the morning.
The rest of us wait.

A small girl chews an IV line
that hangs from her teddy bear’s arm.

A young nurse loses her patients. Two boys
in loose gowns and surgical masks run down the hall.

My wife shifts in her chair. I have never been opened.
She is afraid of what they might find.

Coming back,
the boys rest their heads on the nurse’s outer thighs.

She has her hands on their shoulders
and whispers promises of...

Ice cream?
Morphine?

Her smile drips with the anesthetic quality of distraction.
I nudge my wife and share the medicine:

a doll with an eye patch,
a young mother crying,

a boy in a wheelchair, spinning
away

from it
all.
___________________________________________________________________________________

~ V ~







posted : 2005.Sep.30 @ 8.33pm
Exhibiting

I open my robe three days after surgery.
The staples hold my skin like a zipper.

Ten teeth in my belly.
I move and they grin.

My son studies them
the way he studies everything.

I let him touch them.

His fingers skip and tickle
until he pushes too hard.

We hear the sucking drone
of an engine overhead.

He laughs and hurries
to the window.

This wound of mine is bad art.
The gallery piece is outside:

A silver plane slicing through the soft blue meat
of the sky.
___________________________________________________________________________________

~ V ~







posted : 2005.Sep.30 @ 10.35pm
These last two are super good.
Recent, yes? Good form, Mr. V. Cheers







posted : 2005.Oct.08 @ 10.16pm
Finished recently. Experienced years ago. Thank you for the compliment. As always, you make me want to create more.

~ V ~







posted : 2006.Jan.20 @ 2.13pm
6 Years After the Birth

I keep having this dream.
There is a dwarf.

He is chasing me.
He keeps mumbling about farts
and toys.

Occasionally, he screams
and jumps on the furniture.

He wants me to tie his shoe.
He wants me to cook breakfast.

I want to listen to music, dance,
maybe go to a movie with my wife.

Every time I step towards the door,
the dwarf grabs my legs.

I hit the floor and wake up
twisted in sheets.

There will be no sleep.
The bed is damp,

and I can hear the tiny breathing
at the end of the hall.
__________________________________________________________________________________

~ V ~






    

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