Apr 30, 2008

Give Pizza Chants, M.Adomaitis

Give Pizza Chants
by Mark Adomaitis

Five days a week at our desks working from nine to five,
Yet only at lunchtime do we all come alive;
Jill shouts “Burgers!” - Jane yells “Fish!” - they sing and even dance;
Yet I am victorious, giving pizza chants…
Give me a piece of pizza please!
Don't make me get down on my knees!
Double sausage and extra cheese
and pile on those anchovies!

It’s Sunday, we’re at the bar, the score is nine to eight,
Yet only at half-time do we communicate;
Bob shrieks “Tacos!” – Bill yelps “Subs!” - I take my same old stance;
I always get what I want, giving pizza chants…
Give me pizza or give me death!
No, I am not on crystal-meth!
Let garlic be on my last breath
or heads will roll like in Macbeth!

Now you’re home, the day is done, what would you like to eat?
You and your precious loved ones begin to compete;
She says burgers, he wants fish - but I’ll tell in advance:
You’ll always be the winner giving pizza chants…
Give me P-I-double Z-A!
Let's order two pies - What the hey?!
Don't let me be in disarray-
Look! Here they come! Hip, hip hooray!

Mark Adomaitis

NIce Day, S.France

Nice Day
By Sam France

Snot, teenaged and manic hilarious I was
half-drunk stumbling giggling out of deli, Saturday one o'clock sweating in mammoth overcoat + spider hair in face humid as fuck for absolutely no reason lighting menthol cigarette (menthol/ I was retarded) with yellow lighter, yellow always the coolest besides maybe white which is bad luck and finally eye-contact with smiley black guy scooting along sidewalk like a funny god and I am magical + predict dialogue will be:
"Hey, Man, can I bum a cigarette?"
Here he comes and
"Hey, Man, can I get a smoke?'
"Sure, brotha –"
Brotha, always Brotha,and he's off,
he'll probably be back shaking his head laughing politely asking to bum a light but he can go to 7-11 grab some of those free hick matches 'cause
I'm off down Labrea marching triumphant and infinite, nice day and street symphonies bursting outta the head no need for headphones squeezed earholes this is surround-sound sunny concerto, Baby, low bus bass lines plus ambulance ambience over bum band beach boys harmonies slurred and insane
& me, goofy white kid turns corner into flea market shopping for girls
and hey, there's old Cate workin' her stand, (don't look surprised, Dumbass, why do you think you're here?) the jean shorts and infinite curly blonde hair hello don'tcha wish she didn't look so good all the time? heehee
and the hot blood flows up into skull quick, of course, some black hole and
what can he do
besides grin crazily and wave? Looking like a manic preacher
he greets her giggling and walks
almost to say that
This is all your fault,
I have seen the World and don'tcha wish you came?
Have a nice day.

Jack, Jack and Gerald, CL Borge

by Clyde L. Borg
Jack, Jack and Gerard,
Hanging out on Bethune Street,
Talking girls and baseball.
Reading Mickey Spillane.

Jack, Jack and Gerard,
Gathering at El Mundo Bar,
Drinking Rhingold cans,
Tasting Seagrams and 4 Roses.

Jack, Jack and Gerard,
Making easy choices,
Deciding on RKO or Sheridan,
Bowling or roller derby.

Jack, Jack and Gerard,
Graduating high school,
Going into service,
Getting married.

Jack, Jack and Gerard,
Drinking takes its toll,
Passing early the result,
Missing them I am.

Apr 15, 2008

Bloody Mary Sunday, M.Adomaitis

Bloody Mary Sunday
by Mark Adomaitis

The dog that bit us late, last evening
Was truly a prohibited grain;
We’d counterattack with a six-pack
But that won’t annihilate our pain…

A cool juice of pulpy vermillion
With an unbridled horse radish bite!
A celery beam so crisp and green
Like the money we spent last night!

Lavishly topped with a red hot sauce
Then it’s hours on the couch for us;
The TV guide helps plan our ride
Until the pitcher is vacuous!

If we ever run out of vodka
We’ll make a jug with whiskey or gin;
Since we all still define alcohol
Absolutely the best medicine!

Envy the Beast, K.McIntyre

Envy the Beast
by Katherine McIntyre

All consuming, overwhelming,
its whimsical green tendrils,
carving bags under my eyes and
furrowing my brow.

Vines threatening to choke,
they cast a spell upon my senses,
until drowning in a plethora
Of futility; sludge-like steps.

I am entangled more than ever
down this path of putrid entropy,
Stumbling as I perceive
hazy thoughts that bring much agony.

My syrupy cough contaminated,
Like bile in my throat,
I choke to see what I imagined,
vile tragedy, my mouth offended,

The vines descend in endless spirals
carrying their circular disease,
my fingers grasp upon some logic,
and small sentimentality.

Within my grasp is truth and honesty,
As my clinging vines snap,
A thought of loyalty between us

To Beauty Pageant Judges, G. Bosacker

by Gerald Bosacker

No stitch mark or discerned stitches,
nor pockmarked skin that shows or snitches,
this gloried miss is free from glitches
deserving crown you could install.

The scars she bears are all inside,
her bio skips the nights she cried
mute victim of her parent's pride,
no sadder star can you recall.

As Queens need more than pretty faces
she's well rehearsed in social graces
with perfect smile, rescued from braces,
segued amid her demure drawl.

You have the power to place her first,
or send her home, her bubble burst;
no matter which, your choice accursed
since you don't measure soul at all.

Apr 9, 2008

News of the World, P.Vision

News of the World, by Pablo Vision

You sold that child into slavery; you have suffered every parent's worst nightmare; you left her alone; we have never done anything like that, ever; you are victims of the cruelest crime imaginable; you killed her accidentally; you murdered her; you had the audacity to try and get on with your lives; our hearts go out to you, we will stand by you, forever; we have taken down the posters; we are still looking; you played tennis; you wore make up; we saw her; it was not her; you courted us for the publicity which we could give; ungratefully you questioned our opinions; you used us; we abused you; you phoned the police straight away; you didn't; there is an innocent explanation; you are as guilty as sin; you washed that cat; we can see the pain on your face; we can see through that charade; you are in our every thoughts; you went to church to pray; you hid her body; your loss is our loss; you cold heartless bitch; (with tears in our eyes) you poor, poor, woman; we want to forget and get on with our lives; we will never forget, we will never stop looking; we are obsessed; we are bored; why are you and your one white child worth more than a continent of starving black children; we can so identify with something so close to home, and too close for comfort; we know you so well; we know all the details of what really happened; we don't know you at all; we have no idea what really happened; but you will be judged; we will judge you; we already are; the shadow of the tree that extends over so many countries, over so many lives; lives like yours, and lives not like yours; what really happened, and who are you?

Apr 1, 2008

Chainsaws In My Soup, R.Plath

Chainsaws In My Soup
by Rob Plath

i stir
the large pot
of soup
w/a big

it's beginging
to bubble

it causes
me to think
of the

the first cell

is this what
the creator
must've felt

a buffoon
w/ as spoon
making life

i feel disgusted

i want the
of things

i'd feel better
in my soup

Sh-t Job, M.Jackley

Shit Job
by Mark Jackley

Night comes and I stare
at the spruce in my front yard.
It teeters in the breeze
like a shy dancer
holding the hem of her dress,
on the verge of leaping,
any second now,
towards dark applause.

Perspective: Overpass, D.W.Davis

Perspective: Overpass
by Devin Wayne Davis

rome of tomorrow;
parthenon off-ramp;
swap-meet coliseum;
car lot catacombs
beneath the freeway.

Lemon Drops, L.Singer

Lemon Drops
by Liz Singer

My head is a lemon,
full of sour thoughts
that squeeze out
onto dry, cracked lips.

As I squint and release,
the last drops slip.

Yellow tears fall
on raw, white hands
and lemon drops glow
from my red fingernails.

They shimmer and shine,
leading to my future.
Her stolen air breathes
life into me and I inhale.

Cheeks singe and eyes sting,
but no more tears can pour
from the dried up slits.

I can’t make my squinted face
smile yet- not till the sour taste
is gone. But soon I’ll expel
the last lemon drops and breathe,
because she knows I can.