The Ballad of Lula Del Ray - 2

2.

Lula was child of wires.
Gumming at them from an early age,
fists twisted in spirals
crawling past off-white clumps
of nodes and tangle.
When they dangled in loops
she stuck her neck right through
bringing the it all crashing down
right on the top of her head.

There were always more wires.
At first it was just the dishes,
their thick gray mass snaked around the house
stapled at off-angles in damp corners,
under floorboards or punched through
fiberglass.

They seemed to breed, splitting,
two heads now where there was only
just that one
just last year.

Maybe even
each month: twice as many as the last.

"Until one day"
when she was not much older
"she awoke to find"
she was plugged in where she hadn't been before.
“And as time went on"
she found herself wired to the wall in every direction.
Every cord pulled whip-tight
every socket filled.
Strung up like a cobweb.

Hanging there
in midair.
Just like that
for years.

The Ballad of Lula Del Ray

1.

Once.
Okay, wait.
...
Okay.
Once.
Once there was a tiny shack with a tiny chimney
that puffed out a tiny puff of smoke
from a tiny fire
made of tiny logs,
tiny newspaper
and lit with tiny matches
by tiny people who were exactly the same size as you and I.
It sat in the middle of the desert. Not the exact middle, but near there.
About twenty minutes by car.
It sat in the middle of A Very Large Array. A very large array of what, you might ask.
Dishes, ma'am. Dishes.
Big, white government-issued saucers
their slanted bowls stretched on angled necks, craning towards the stars,
stealing vibrations out of the sky.
Network Fuzz.
Cable Fuzz.
Hot Spy Channel Jazz.
Interplanetary Gossip.
Waves of information.
All being broadcast
directly into the corporeal,
flesh and blood being
known as
Lula Del Ray.

CASPER

There's no such thing as a friendly ghost
of course.
Death never feels fair
Even draped in warm white sheets.

Drifting this way through walls
lacking the chemistry to care
you are the same terror as ever.

The rattling of chains
as you lock your bike.
The crashing of pans
as you wash the dishes.
The low boat-groan that escapes
when you realize you're still here.

300 Character Limit

Options
Why batter your mind or fry your eyes or soak your head or blanch your face or swallow your tongue why blow your nose or simmer your soul why spread your self why shave your nails or why plump your lips why chop your hair why infuse it all why not just dress and pull apart why not get stuffed.

Traditions
Oh oh Oh oh Oh. We are gonna brunch. We are gonna hot meat and yolk fat on crust with booze. We are gonna syrup and booze and butter and booze and half-awake while we're at it. Drink the sleep out of our luxurious eyes, boy. Sop up hot sauce with vodka and cash. What a party what a party. My BFFs!

Impressions
The button down and jacket you own in case somebody dies (the tie, too) don't fit your neck. Your fat head on vertical stripes or checks or solids and then those church pants with the stain. Your purple shirt is you. The rest, strangers. All this to go about your business. This is how you go to work.

Hot Contents
Bran scum, lemon poppy beard dust and sweet cheese-ooze glaze the paper cup you call home. Brown froth stains the sides. It makes your teeth look like shit. It makes your breath smell like shit. It makes your shit smell like something else entirely. And now look at you. You're sweating.

The Bottom of the Earth

The Toughest Man in Antarctica

Standing at about 6’2

he wasn’t scared.

Some days, he would climb the tallest rock.

Other days just kick holes in the ice.

He had never won a fight

But he never lost one either.

He’d swear and curse just to hear the echo.

He could see his breath so long as he was alive.

He was the toughest man in Antarctica.

It gave him a lot of time to think.

Swimming Pool Poems For Water Wing Times

KOI POND

Well,
we both just love carp so much
it was inevitable, really.

JUMPING IN THE FOUNTAIN WITH MY SUIT ON

Who's boring now, Margot?
Not the guy in the fountain with his suit on.
My briefcase is in here too
wet papers floating around
full of data, probably.
"Numbers."
Who cares.
Not me.
Not the guy splashing around in this fountain
in his new Brooks Brothers suit
laughing, dancing
everyone must think I'm so crazy
and maybe I am
just a little ;)
but sometimes it's what you have to do
just jump in a fountain
to feel really alive.
I'm wet and alive and spontaneous and fun and I feel good
I feel good
I feel good about my life
and all of you.
And you, Margot.
How's this for living out on the edge?
I think the cops might have to ask me to leave.
That's how it goes when you're having too much fun
that's how it goes when you're going a little crazy
the man comes in and shuts you down.
That's how it goes
when you're in a fountain
with your suit on.

With this one act
I am absolved of my former life
by your wishes.

NOT DROWNING, BUT WAVING

Hey!
Hey guys!
Look over here!
Guys!

Look at me!
Hey!
Look at this!
Over here, guys!

Guys!
Look!
I'm splashing!
This is great.

Those Who Can

MY WIFE
by Your 10th Grade English Teacher

My wife...
My...fucking wife, she...
Ah
She should've gotten into a better law school.
She--listen--
I'm just trying to prepare you for the realities
you
are
going
to face
in college.
They don't take late work there.
There aren't any extensions.
They won't go as easy on you as I did.
As I've been doing. You'll see.
If my wife had--
if my wife had gotten into a better law school
I wouldn’t have to be getting my Masters now

and we’d—

she went to a second tier university

because she didn’t work very hard in high school

and just—

it’s affecting us now.

That’s all I’ll say.

I don’t mean to be too personal.

To give too much information.

“TMI.”

You know.
But we would both be somewhere else is what I’m saying.

My wife and I.

She was so smart. Just like you.

She thought she was so fucking smart.

But now.

Well

here we are.