Wednesday, October 21, 2009

1 comment:

  1. In Pensacola Florida we do a poetry slam at the End-of-the-Line Café. On Tuesday, I did this parody of another reader’s work; Trevor had read three pieces, where words were echoed 3 times, lambasting mankind, each taking us ever-lower, with no redemption at the end. I thought to myself, this guy needs to get laid. Therein lies the poem.

    I borrow single words/ from Dylan to Trevor to Thomas.
    Only single words/ though lonely stolen/
    do not belittle the thief!
    the gift is in your hand.

    Fast Food Nation

    We thought it was a drive by shooting
    But it was only McDonalds.. McDonalds.. McDonalds
    Drive through the Trevored Lane, in Super-Size the burger appears
    The Golden Arch.. The Grand Abyss; give us space that we may tumble.

    In War and Peace there is none!
    As mothers leap from burning window
    Ancient bombers fall, fall.. flame into the night!
    Up Johnson Up! We search again but there is none.

    What’s his name??? this baby in the bubble or the babble in the bottle? Look!! The hand is there, dismiss the Trevored word!
    In the wink of accordion love Pump the Iron Lung that we may find him. SQUEEZE THIS SEARCH!!!.. can you lend a hand?
    This most dire need, this winking need for love.. love.. for love.

    SO I TELL HER.. Just Touch It.. touch his winky, winky winky.
    And then she screamed; in Lexicon Gallup I could not catch her..
    and saw myself as old, and it was wrong, wrong these faded pages drifting in winkey wind.
    The cheeks of her ass going over the horizon and it was wrong!

    So I poked my Wife and said: Can you help? She poked me back and said No!. No!. No One can help this man, but watch awhile…
    as Lepricons.. wait in winkey love.. to poke the trevored word...
    and sure enough, the clown lay strangled.. by Lepricon hands..
    was it Ronald?.. or some other clown, as Trevor idles by..licking the chops of madness. Can you help?

    And sure enough.. he pulls out another.. can you help?
    He pulls down his pants!!.. can he help it?
    Can you feel the need?.. the Rolling Balls of need?
    Can you see the end? The May Pole.. you say!?!

    We marched in May and now its June, another child grown old, running round the pole to dance with maidens
    some with words and some in gesture
    but whirling.. all!.. on tightening rope..
    round and round they all begin with O.. O.. O..

    Pull back your hat, see what you have done!
    In rushing streams Dismantle the night!
    I am here! Stand in still water, and it is you!
    Roll my balls around the window
    and it is June! June! oh June!

    It was then he saw the window..
    Golden girl.. stared.. as if to a third eye..
    She pulls back the burger, saying: “Is that a panty liner on your head?” She lowers her gaze, to where gaze always goes
    To vanish, as windows close.. in reflexion
    of the arch.. once again… Please pull forward…

    Nations of hope and dream sputter away.. in low gear…
    and then.. to a stop.
    He pulls the liner, ever slowly to his eye..
    In darkness, the Trevored voice returns.. this time in Brogue:
    “Were I to come on her face, or Leprican Lace..
    Twood not wipe way the tears of my Father”.
    And in winkey blinkey love the eye closes
    to snuggle.. round the moment.. of dawn.