West Philadelphia in the Snow

 

Outside, the Monsters wore people-masks that covered their faces,

they paid top-dollar for a quick December,

and brooded over their pensions.

When they weren't feeding,

The Monsters busied themselves with trifles 

and fantasy football.

One night,
A congregation of young philosophers assembled through the snow
smuggling snark and thrift - 

They descended the stairs

in pairs, and slunk to the door of the basement wearing
people-masks too, like you do.

A throng of aesthetes, dissidents, exuberants.

Inside, Fransisco kept cogless time on his jeans with spoons - 

There were Christmas lights that'd been hung in June, and 

all around

beards were endlessly unbearding beards.

"Hootin' Annie,"

as she was known in trendy people-places, writhed, her eyes

twisted to the ceiling, chin

to the ground, saying,

they'll try to sequester you away in taxicabs of comfort!

and a rowdy bottle launched itself over the crowd

becoming perfect as it shattered

on the basement wall.

-

Meanwhile the throng twitched like a rabid dream

waking Bach upstairs in his powdered curls, who

promptly joined the revelry with

his tropical drink and

his lisp.

In the corner

the son of a politician brandished glistening

teeth of crime, wore horrible pants, and rumor has it,

the whole bleeding shindig was a recruitment scheme

for the vicious charge he led against his own 401(k).

JV

Canon

Everyone who heard the discharge, turned

deferentially to marvel at the technique of
the canon-gunner who fired once a generation.

“I wish to make a humble contribution,” one woman said to him
with a bold forefinger tap on the shoulder.

He turned

and his white beard wafted magniloquently catching the
languid sun in wisps. 

She lit the fuse artfully,

rounded the shaft and,

with the utmost conviction, sunk

her head nose-ward to the blast.

-JV

Squinting Suspiciously

I was watching time crawl roachlike,
Shuddering and stopping
As if some of its legs
Had already been plucked.

It still had the whole of infinity
To climb like a kitchen wall.
The very thought of it.
In all likelihood,
Causing these jitters,
These eentsy-weentsy doubts.

It must be the chill, I told myself.
Neither one of us can get warm
Even on a hot night like this.
O cruel Time, I need someone to throw
A blanket over you, and so do I.

-Charles Simic

Resumé

 

Razors pain you;

Rivers are damp;

Acids stain you;

And drugs cause cramp.

Guns aren’t lawful;

Nooses give;

Gas smells awful;

You might as well live.

 

- Dorothy Parker

Why Go To College

So people will give you money,
Wear your degree ear-tagged
like shark-week


And promenade about a storefront like
a pet shop cat
'till others flock to your cause
thronging to the window displaying
rodent sacrifices over the transom dripping
from their tiny mouths



In case of adoption, piss
on Master's couch and
blame it on the minority.


JV

Harpers Ferry, West Virginia: a co-poem a la Lu Marie

I haunted the steps of St. Francis of Insects,

now meditating on a rock, brown in the sun,

in hopes of mercying

myself to health.

Across an old train bridge,

Up through the woods,

Lichen-painted,

tucking scrubby oaks and pines.

The river is wide below,

and from here you can see

slabs of rock sunk copper-green,

'neath tubers, tiny from here.

Cicada hum,

Distant highway, and the wind-tree rustle

Here we are, out in the world

Let it ever be anew,

Amen.

San Francesco d'Insetti, you are standing on your rock now,

Looking rivers, accompanied by broccoli-thick trees.

I’ve been thinking about solitude,

in a deep-water way

and about maybe even writing

when the gong-sun hits,

and there you are, and 
your freckles.

I will start with single words.

Copper. Spade. Luminescent

Then phrases, sentences.

[My glass-bauble soul leapt from the bed!

D'ja catch that?]

Then poems,

Then stories,

rambles. Brambles.

You gave a woop, and I roared terrifically back,

So I’ll start here.

LMK & JV

Marx in City Parks While She's in Paradiso

One could deduce the rate of soul-

flow through the machine,

were one so clever.

--

Given:

The tempo is 17^th and Market.

Here and there something horrible beats

inside a human chest.

We're aware that something horrible beats
inside a human chest.

I'm here, still;
A dynamo,
While
Your off

Being off

Somewhere

Warm -

You can spend a lifetime here underground.
Eyes down here are sharp. Adapted for
Clocks!

Observe:

This Guy-At-Precisely-3-O'clock.
He's gotta 
Dusty dusty shag carpet cough, and
              he's

Leaning farther in the seat then there's
Seat
         to sit.

You'll never deep enough, dude;

The nails won't scratch that deep!
The throat.

Soon enough

Your head won't lift again.  All of it.

It'll all slide
To the corners of mouths

Where't'll pool cocoa green

And your teeth will rot

Moss fuzz and

You won't
                 care.

Ah my fellow fellow!

Something horrible awaits, under the split-flap clock,

If you've got the time to sink that far!
You wait.

--

I want
Answers.  

Who sleeps through Paradise?  And can green,
Green even green 
At all?

And Love,

When you return from scouring the globe for Eden,

I know

You'll return
With news that fruit is hand-picked and hegemony-free somewhere we can really be!

Without clocks

Falling on our heads

Forever and ever,

Amen.

JV

Unemployment Pome

I. Without
 

A story below the silent window

with the “X”s in tape,

each of six panes, an “X” in packing-tape -

shatter-proof -

God, sick,

on full-time bourbon,

toiling alone:

Hoo-rah!

Take That!

Whah!

Rah!

Take This!

Ha!

Bleh!

Ah!

Take That!

The conviction impresses no one.

A child launches an apple as high as she can.

–

Below the clouds are shoulders,

who swear have never been massaged;

Slumping

licking the corners of mouths,

pissing in the corners you'll lean

waiting for trains.

Somewhere lustrous, Subway trudges, dumbly

smoking his last cigarette,

his unfamiliar feet spill

from scarecrow legs.

SPIT.

and the strand won't break.

A bungee about his neck secures him to the grid of clouds

His breath could kill a hamster

or a subway mouse.

–

Seeing that I wore a handsome November

and freshly shaved,

you asked me,

“Can you spare anything?”

And as December lurked,

and as there was no job in the pit

of my stomach, I spit

on you and

traipsed on.

And you ticked forward

despite days upon weeks of tomorrow

clogging the mechanism

sticking the gears

crusting

yesterday's muck

II. Within

Within

the coffee's only warm,

the mug is second-hand – the drinker: handsome,

it's chipped a bit on the lip

and would spoon the tongue nicely

if the breaking bubbles

would stop

sending impulses across its face

like skittering insects.

If,

smartly,

it should shatter,

the mop 'n broom, lazing about the corner,

should hop to life,

and the handsome drinker should be served another.

-JV