Brutal Truths and Lying Light
You can peel off your scars
like so many old and dirty
band-aids. Pain makes a great
affectation, don’t you think?
The writers want you to reveal
your third nipple in the season
finale. Give them an expensive thrill.
Make no mistake, this is a game
of ratings and dogs’ breath.
Take another swig of condensed
Windex, another bite
of urinal cake. Breath is freshest
when it’s blue. Nice to see you.
DADDY DEAREST
Ivanka, you love your nasty daddy,
you never dispute him or contradict
any of his gross tweets or lame edicts,
and you might even serve as his caddy.
But are you tempted to call him Fatty
when he eats too many Eggs Benedict,
not leaving the yellow-white plates unlicked,
or berate him for appearing too natty?
No, you say, I love my daddy dearest,
he’s my hero, my knight in dull armor,
and gives me what I want in the tower.
Besides, he’s the biggest, the fiercest
father of this cruel world, but can he purr
when he wants my love, before he glowers!
WHAT’S BEST
Hard to believe that all these people were fucked into the world,
but here they are and there isn’t much that can be done about it.
They need to be fed, clothed, roofed, and mostly entertained
so that they don’t get mad and do something punitive like
putting arsenic in the water or polluting the air with swear words
so loud that the rest of us go deaf and no longer can listen
to old Stones, Beach Boys, and Beatle’s songs.
Yes it’s best to be civil with all these people and try to make
friends with a few of them in case you get locked out of your
house without your cell phone so that if you need to call your
spouse to come open the door, they will open theirs and say,
“Of course, use mine!” and maybe give you a cup of tea
or a glass of juice while you wait.
It’s best to think of oneself as a world citizen and trust
everyone until there is cause to believe that someone
is trying to manipulate you into giving them your money
or using you as an listening board for all their problems. . .
TRASH
Trash.
I like that word.
Trash.
What is it?
Is it that blonde girl behind Denny’s?
Maybe your uncle who slept with them all?
Maybe the actual trash can in your room?
The one overflowing with paper?
Maybe it’s that one plate of nachos no one finished
Or it could obviously be that one pan of food,
The one with all that… dull green mold
Disgusting.
Trash.
Why the hell is there a lot of trash?
Why do people call it hideous?
Why is it called trash? Trash.
Is your life trash?
I hope not, that’ll just be sad.
Is your friend’s life trash?
It better be compared to yours.
Well, I think trash is beautiful.
Trash is filled with a wonder of color.
Don’t you see that weird mystery liquid?
Amazing.
The thin pieces of hair draping over the sides.
The red spots from the ketchup.
The orange peels from, well, oranges.
The yellow peels from bananas.
The green everything- mold, lettuce and whatnot.
The multiple wrappers from various brands.
That one bare steak t-bone.
Wait, now that I think about
Trash is disgusting.
My Last Memory of Snow
I hesitated entering the bodega. The cashier had seen me cry before:
I’m sure of it. Would he remember me at the table with my twenty-four
ounce can of Yuengling? After that embarrassment I should’ve left you
in my car. The menu was sandwiches: hummus and vegetables on rye.
Sour Patch Kids. Steamed soy milk in coffee. I’m intentionally bleeping
out the important detail: three feet of snow on Third Street in Old City.
Normally I would have been defeated by the heavy white powder,
but we were procuring carbs, caffeine. At the AirBNB was a tub for two.
What’s more, I knew we’d be Pioneers! O Pioneers! in just a few months.
Extra pickles and hot sauce, please. My eye contact hungered for chips.
And, sir, is it possible I’m making a mistake? We plowed through drifts
with heavy boots and paper sacks. Voices bounced off new acoustics.
Few were out; locals were scraping cars a step ahead of the next squall.
I longed for less complicated circumstances: not so much of the always
life or death. Next winter a close friend would text me the following:
Your commitment crushed my hopes. I didn’t get it. You had plowed
the trail where there wasn’t any snow. He would send me postcards
with full color (some white, some grey) landscapes covered with more
than I’d endured. Despite who you are, I’ve landed. I can’t revoke a storm.
APHORISMS
Politics is a realm in which iniquity is multiplied many times over when the masses like herds of animals incited by morally corrupt leaders participate in systemic evil on a massive scale.
Degrade the rule of law and reap the consequences of a lawless society.
Aloneness is alienation, solitude communion.
Everything is, yet nothing is as it was.
You can have your cake and eat it, too, not the other way around.
A friend in deed is a friend indeed.
Tend to a boiling pot lest it overflow.
A leap to safety is not guaranteed by a look.
Tyrants impose, peoples depose.
Wickedness will worsen when it is motivated by the underlying fear of retribution.
Tremulous truth is in reality conquering courage.
When the sun, moon, and stars bowed down to a child, it was only a dream.
Read more "Gonzalinho da Costa – APHORISMS"
3:11 AM
It starts with a contraction,
a shudder, turns to a roll,
tightening to knots…
the earth twitches and shakes off its top layer.
Just as the cramp grips the calf.
I wait.
Watch the pictures rattle…Anticipate the next twitch.
Why do I bother to wish for sleep?
It won’t come. The cramp won’t stop.
The pain that starts mid-calf,
travels to the arch of the foot,
Reminiscent of a forward fold
and downward facing dog.
Just as the ache from head to child
planks my adult. Board- like stiff.
To tighten the muscle,
requires the stretch to rebound
and snap with tectonic plates.
Wait….
For the next spasm of muscle.
I grasp tight, but leaks in cracks,
seep,
ooze,
break loose.
I roll to floor,
hobble to gulp magnesium.
Turn up the heat, lay the leg flat,
and think of past actions.
I’d text you sorry but what good would that do?
Warrior 1 shifts to Warrior 2.
The end result is a stretch and a cramp
at 3:11 AM.
Girl Burning the Wrong Way
The girl wants you, alive this time—
Which is to say, hands turned on the table
so we know you’re not moving to kill us, hands
around our neck meaning forever, meaning
right now, meaning hands
around waist pulling toward another
fire, another swallowing thing, choosing
the poison over the lips and the
wrong body in the lake, over
and over.
But you aren’t
the one dancing this time with
rolling veins, a stronger sage, spitting
holy water into the
hotel room to
remember all this for you.
When you thought, at least there
was dirty breathing on
the opposite side of
the bed, at least there
was breath, a man in a hat swearing
he loves you, swearing and
heart pounding, and
fist in wall–
why did they all feel the same to you?
Ballast Okay fine, the ballast said. Fine, fine do what you want. I will stay here while waters bob. And ship strays. And wood gets wet with tide. The ballast said no, wait. So tired of passive. Track your own whereabouts. Head count with the lighthouse. I want to not do this job. And bid […]
Read more "BROC RIBLET – BALLAST"Shining
The woman stands still
in her living room for
a long while without anyone
noticing. Something chimes
far away and another hour
passes. She’s not alone
but it feels that way
because no one has taken
an honest look at her
all day. She feels a sad,
desperate thing inside
and she wants to kill it.
Tears could come anytime
and she hates herself for that.
Every light in the house
is on and they’re shining
on the worst parts of her.
Read more "JANELLE CORDERO – SHINING"
Cacti Fur 