Happy Groundhog’s Eve. Here are the very first Vogons of 2019. I’ve been super busy w/ gross earthly responsibilities, and also I’ve managed to spend a lot of time hibernating. Which I plan to do all year long. Which means there will be fewer Vogon poems & hardly any new art. But I’ll give you what I can.
Just a reminder that submissions for the next Octopus Review are open! Send me STUFF!
VOICES BEHIND CLOSED DOORS:
A TRUMP & PUTIN DIALOGUE IN THE STYLE OF MAMET
T: Bail me out
T: Why not
P: Why not pay?
T: Why? Let’s wheel. Let’s peel & eat. Let’s seal a state.
P: Rue it. Rent it. Ivankit.
T: Let’s fluff. Let’s tuft. Let’s Tiffanize.
T: Hah?? Huh??
T: But Jared…
P: Nyuk nyuk…back channel
T: Scapericorn. Goat germs?
T: Chirp chirp 140 chirp chirp chirps…Tiffanyet?
P: < 3.7 tongue clicks > Perks?
T: The works. pp cummings. Any sexton pussy mob or dick&sons
P: We make poetry together?
T: And rent
P: Da-da-deal comrade < poison sandwich? >
2014: Spider 2015: Frog 2016: Owl 2017: Rabbit 2018: Worm
2019: whatever hibernates 51 weeks/year
(The Sunshine State Zodiac. Which sign are you? It doesn’t matter, they’re all incompatible)
THE PLEASURE OF BEING A BURNOUT
Drone. Yawn. Snore. Whaat?!
(or is it Rog?)
HOW TO DEFEAT ISIL
Let them have their caliphate &
also bake a
Build a wall around their caliphate &
toss the bread-laced tablets
Manna Manna Overboard
A caliphate from
Walls of bread & one day
One day only flour instead of bread &
one day bliss
becomes a kite
becomes a comet
blessing this caliphate
A cup of small white disks, crushed
Pull a pretty hippy to the town square
A hub of sunshine in her love-vest &
Dust the cake generously w/ fine powder
Be sure to wear full hazmat gear
Spirit Animals: From Karmic Kidnapping to Deluxe Escape
Spider: Not the coveted Soviet features of an ubermodel
But one 8-eyed spy
Tripping, hopping on too many stages
Burying currents in well insulated legs
Frog: Suddenly you’re an apprentice
electrician. It’s your house & body
That need rewiring
Beginning w/ the doorbell & ending w/ the
Ribbit roar purr (remember
when the doorbell almost
burned the house down?
That was my last day w/ guardian angels
long…? About a year….
The morning I was frog-bombed on the toilet
I knew I had new angels &
should never ask what happened to the old ones)
Owl: You pulled your wings from my overdrawn
Bank of orgasms,
And fluttered like money across my eyelashes
Glory bee! That did not sting,
But too many peeks behind the curtain
Leave you weak
Rabbit: Your scars itched & your brain prepared
to give birth
(to a whole new reality. And
I don’t use that word lightlessly)
Nibble on the clover you’d overlooked
for falsity (& I use that word selflessly)
Dismantle the gingerbread mall
w/ your teeth
Worm: turning & resisting
cliche, always softening your angle
With those segments
How could anyone mistake you for a visual thinker?
And yet they do…
|Blurry shotgun penguin wedding|
ADVENTURE AT THE MMJ DISPENSARY IN SEATTLE*
The sad thing about the adventure
was how perfectly it started
Some water drops are naturally unholy
but each particle of fog on this adventure
was of baptismal quality
W/ laser precision I calculated the time of your birth &
from there I was able to pinpoint the moments
you made your way west
All the zany cardstock characters were written
the ranting blond whose tears turned out
to be holier than rain
She distracted from my reverie
but didn’t destroy it.
Everyone stopped & posed
in my windshield
One man halts & takes an everest chug
off his vapor cannister
as he limps up the ramp
Not a puff but a breath of creation heavy w/
Perfect weather. Perfect temperature
for rolled down windows
A hot box of MAGA hats leaves the station @ 10:45
& at 10:47 it’s your turn.
my turn to see you in the windshield,
familiar not zany
In those 47 minutes I’d written your life story
and couldn’t wait to get home & end it
w/ the perfect punctuation mark—
An audio-visual orgasm
A just-long-enough jest—
when some walk-on character appears,
& you respond
By leaping from my skull’s embrace & traipse
through a fog that’s already hardening into glass
2 writers should never share a windshield
*not the real Seattle
Please, no more tests!!
Remember the one I took all last year,
Swordplaying through your obstacle course
Please no more.
How much longer do I want to hang out
Watching the fragilest minds of my generation
Do what they’re doing??
Intuition is a thing now
but there are forces working against it
This is a collective, a food pantry
of Christ hostages
Needing to be eaten before decomp sets in
All TIME has angelic seals of approval
from dickless gatekeepers,
somehow always defeminized
like astronauts in SPACE
Let this 45th Blotch appear
On the face of a wafer
Screeching for us to halt as the
Evolutionary bottleneck approaches
Some get stuck there like a
Butterscotch in the throat…
I was born the moment your train left the station
We crossed paths
I couldn’t find a mother & friends
were a chemical risk
The drano crawled around your palate
& the styrofoam cup corroded as you watched
from the bathroom floor
And other mothers scared you,
the caring available ones —
(If you got something to say…)
Most of us unpack this shit through
divorces/troubled tweens/ whatever mirrors
we encounter on the walls of the world
Rarely do we choose to face
the mirrors of the skull. Your inner disco ball awaits!
Meet it w/out flinching &
the velvet ropes will engorge
w/ loving platelets
Like, how dare you see me under
all this business,
this shroud of bureaucracy?
I must be doing something Pretty
Dumb. But can’t believe all the dumb things
You keep doing!
I always counted on you to be the smart one.
(this is so like today, all my thoughts ending on the other side of the page
where they’re easily lost
10 of fucking wands! “broken pumpkin”
I always thought the first family might be a little
WILD WEST VERSION of 1980s + 1930s =
An era I never wanted to see
But here I am w/ eyes not made of hamburger
I love to conspire
You were the pious earth mother
You were sawn in half & rebuilt yoreself
W/ good food, meditation
& a photogenic lifestyle
Who else are “American”? The Weiners?
Do Americans congregate?
A parish of them?
A perish? A persistence?
What about ostrich feathers
Blooming from sand pits?
What about popped heart balloons
What about the seabirds &
How do we reconcile their differences?
Octopus Diary is back channel to oligarchy?
Now I will call the interpols
Those we called “mama’s boys” before
“toxic masculinity” was entered
In the lexicon
Gardening under hydroponic duress
A different momma’s boy has arrived
Because his variety is benign)
Expie al Adocious,
More purring, less roaring
You are the Master…..
[It’s hard to be a poet when your
family is still alive. There’s so much to show
Not tell. And, it’s not all bad. It’s actually
pretty interesting & profound.
But privacy (yada yada) respect >: ( ]