Saturday, January 10, 2009
Poem for Jack Spicer in the Middle of the Night, Take 2
Poem for Jack Spicer
"My vocabulary did this to me.*"--Jack Spicer's last words
My 20,000 lb ACME anvil dropped from a craggy cliff by the Road Runner did this to me. HE'S MEEN!
My shark-infested pool with sharks bearing lasers on their head where I swam nightly did this to me.
My favorite hammer, which I used to beat myself repeatedly about the head and used to smash my testicles, did this to me.
My hearing the Pussycat dolls chanting the "HA HA HA HA!" chorus from "When I Grow Up" over and over in my head....Did....This....To....Me.
My sword-swallowing act on the crosstown bus in which I juggled three Chinese dwarf hamsters (while trying to remember, mostly unsuccessfully, where the potholes were on this route) and sang "La Vida Loca" in Spanish....well that did this to me too.
My decision to begin a mold collection--because I thought it would be interesting-- did this to me.
My belief that pet bulls are naturally friendly creatures and have been wrongly stereotyped as vicious monsters, and that they really appreciate unwanted advances made by strangers who stick their hands on a very hot summer day into a car with the windows rolled all the way down parked outside a 7-11...did this to me.
My decision to pose as the sort of straight man who obnoxiously uses that "lesbian trapped in a straight man's body" schtick in the sort of dyke bar where Gertrude Stein would be considered a lipstick lesbian, to amuse my friends on a lark? Yeauh boooiiii that did this to me.
My belief that because I was good at the age of eight at the game OPERATION! means that I can use a fork to fetch a piece of toast that broke off out of the toaster without unplugging it, because unplugging it is for sissies....oh hell to the yes that did this to me.
And lastly my vocabulary did this to me. Especially the words "What can it hurt?" and "I have no gag reflex" and "I guess I trust you."
They really did me.
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4 comments:
JACK’S VALENTINE
I watched a tiny chickadee
a male I think a hot male
under the collar a black blaze
on the wings
reproduction his
only problem
you were my food source
he sings manically
his life
an emergency operation
rushing past him
in a year or two
music can make you do
such terrible things.
Cattivo to the max, Peter.
Get it?
Max, Peter.
Do you share his sense of color?
A nice poem nonetheless.
Freddie and Sarah both sing "Who Wants to Live Forever?" so beautifully, each in a different way...
but I always answer "me! me!"
Just kidding.
But I figure if nature deals you a good gene you should go with it.
Hence, my new plan to be a Dowager Empress.
Although how to do this without either a primogeniture gift bag or a 401K, I have no idea...
Scratch tickets?
I want to do a short film called "Scratch."
When I stopped in to pick up a latte for Lee one day at the Sheetz I sat down at the table and waited and there is a perfect view of both the lottery machine and the scratch off tickets.
There was so much drama there you wouldn't believe.
People who bought the most lottery tickets were always the ones who 1)wore awful "finery" (ugly fur, gaudy jewelry, bad watches, 1940s hats) that they thought made them look affluent but instead made them look ridiculous or 2)looked like crack addicts who were using their kids' milk money for this.
These people (usually the couples) fight ridiculously over the numbers and getting thing's right, as though they know exactly what to pick "if you'd only listen to me..."
But you can't film those kinds of people. They will get pissed. It would have to be a hidden camera.
"I should have said...OMG are you Aretha Franklin!" to the one lady. Because she was so tryin' to be. It would have made her day. Or else I would have got cuffed by her fancy man. Who looked like he was going for a Morris Day look.
But he..you gotta be in it to win it.
I salute their optimism.
And the money supports living death. At least in Pennsylvania.
It even says that on the ticket somewhere: "Thank you for supporting living death."
People who bought the most lottery tickets were always the ones who 1)wore awful "finery" (ugly fur, gaudy jewelry, bad watches, 1940s hats) that they thought made them look affluent but instead made them look ridiculous or 2)looked like crack addicts who were using their kids' milk money for this.These people (usually the couples) fight ridiculously over the numbers and getting thing's right, as though they know exactly what to pick "if you'd only listen to me..."
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