Tuesday, January 8, 2013

5 Poems by Alan Reese

An Apocalyptic Flarf

Two brains are better than one.
On the battlefield, the higher brain

tells the gut brain to shut down
the fear reflex rising like methane emissions

of enteric farm animals’ fermentation.
“Sarcasm certainly runs in the family,”

the sargeant screams, thinking to himself,
“A bovine belch has never been so lucrative.”

They came to climb what Thoreau called
the “sublime graymass.”

We are all alcohol time bombs set to explode.
Another article in The Los Angeles Times

traces the blossoming of Big Pharm
to the Armageddon Buffet.

We bid farewell to the world in a recurring
dream afterglow.

Declaration of Inhalation

In the sky, ten thousand machines
whistle and whirr and whoosh and whine.
Seven shots ring out overhead in the plaza.
Nearby a lady in pink carries roses
or is that a bouquet of blood on her dress?
Gunsmoke, napalm, and brimstone
mix with the screams of frightened citizens
on this sunny American afternoon.

Kamikaze suicide bombers
gather in the streets and parks,
wearing explosives
disguised as neckties and children’s balloons,
while down in the worshipful halls
of the synagogues and churches and mosques,
all the holy men wear flesh-colored jumpsuits
made of real human skin,
and the prophets sing for profits
just as they’ve been told to do.
Out in the street, the social effete
drag their dead dogs on diamond studded leashes
past hurricane victims and the homeless and the drug addled.

I’ve got nothing to protest
and everything to protest.
I’m for everything
and against nothing.
I’m anti-anti.
I don’t want your dollars.
They don’t speak to me.
I don’t wear buttons, bumper stickers,
Or spout slogans.
I’m a column of air,
a single inhalation of the universe.

Bud to
Dub To
Od Tub
Out Bd
Dot Bu
Do But
Bout D
Tu Bod
Bod Tu
D Bout
But do
Bu Dot
Bd Out
Tub Od
To Dub
To Bud

A Non-Comprehensive Compendium of Words
That Will Not Appear in My Poems Tonight, a
Work in Progress

Shit, fuck, piss, cunt, and all their brothers & sisters,
pus, mucous, canker, smegma, The Alpha and the Omega,
DICK Cheney, DICKensian, Deadeye DICK, Emily DICKinson,
parsimonious, parsnips, polyps, tulips, mint juleps,
kittens, cats, butterflies, rainbows, and My Little Ponies,
ecumenical, non-sectarian, and global village,
proletariat, Secretariat, bourgeoisie, and Chef Boyardee,
adenoid, hemorrhoid, and Sigmund Freud,
syzygy, synergy, filigree, pedigree, amputee,
schmiel, schmozzle, tookus, bupkis,
nigger, spic, kike, jew, and all their nasty minions.
technicalities, commonalities, modalities, spiritual or otherwise,
genitalia and pantaloons, moles, trolls, tootsie rolls,
politics, popsicle sticks, guitar licks, cancer sticks,
Jimi Hendrix, toothpicks, rhetoric, suck my dick,
teeter-tooter, fodder, and folderol,
potty mouth, soccer mom, pom pom, tic tac, bric a brac,
jimmy crack corn and I don’t care,
Rambo, bimbo, Jimbo, Bambi, namby-pamby,
fag, scag, skank, bitch and dirty ho,
heinous, skullduggery, bambooozle,
awesome, ginormous, and humongous,
downsize, supersize, upscale,
off the shelf, on the same page, out of the loop, outside the box,
whoppee, gee whiz, or golly.
tea bagging, snow balling, butt dialing, fudge packing,
facebook, tweeter, myspace, youtube and dot com,
health care reform, rama lama ding dong,
hey nonny nonny and a hot cha cha,
and the Mormon Tabernacle choir.

To Whom It May Concern:

If I was a love poem
I’d be wearing bright clothes
and spouting flowery words
to puff you up and such.
I would appear everywhere
with arms full of blossoms
and promises thick as syrup.
My high fructose non-stop
attention would give you
Type I amorous diabetes.
But, as it is, you know where
to find me so take it or leave it.
I no longer aspire to such heights
since vertigo and nausea are often
mistaken for bliss and ecstasy.
Signed, your Sugar Daddy.

Alan Reese owns and operates an independent subsidy publishing business, Abecedarian Books, Inc. He is the author of the chapbook Reports from Shadowland. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in many publications including Smartish Pace, Gargoyle, The Baltimore Sun, Maryland Poetry Review, Potomac Review, Delaware Review, and the Loch Raven Review. He teaches writing at Towson University.

No comments:

Post a Comment