Peaking for Books
Tart-stifled, drum-faced, and hog-breathed
girl asking for book eyes unable to center
tongue double in her mouth
sheer struggle to stand
and in the distance I hear a mammoth trumpet
as she opens her teeth in brilliance and wobbles her head bird-like
'I am going clubbing but on the way I want to buy a book'
the strength of her breath like brain-thinner
as her eyes roll back and she shivers
a titter
then she disappears
There is a weird moon out tonight
some red light slivering in through the window
the open door
the mouths of browsers
the eyes of city harlots
corners of mouths up-turned in cruel happy thoughts
songs sung in too early drunkenness
late-night binges at their very onset
hats worn askew
skirts drawn short
spirits short-circuiting and nostrils flaring
deep into
that weird moon shining tonight
A sagging recollection of last night
A crust-riddled mental case asked
for the swamp-thing
an anthology of
the scene dragging on
and I can see every detail of the man
as if I’ve taken acid
blood on his hands
real, not figurative
tiny wounds self-scratched
coating him in himself
his eyeballs sit on his cheeks
doming at me, white and moonlike
pin-prick pupils caused by meds not taken
an arrow of a tongue licking
black-encrusted pencil-lips
I have no solution
no salvation
a field-day of weirdness
poured into this.
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Sharks are bald
perhaps a feeling sliding toward the shore
into the water
cold on the soul the girl cuts my hair
bald now I float on my back
my clothes are light
my body heavy
I release my breath and it turns into a cloud
green and purple
a lightning bolt smelling of orange juice hits the water
and a shark
fried by a million volts
jumps into the air
and lands sizzling
next to me
he takes of his hat in greeting
and tells me
'never let her cut your hair'
and I look at the shark and say
'sharks can't talk'
he growls and grumbles and responds
'remember Samson'
I do remember Samson
an asses' jaw
thousands of Philistines
lions and
the rest
a real old testament Hercules
But what does that matter
as I am floating here
on my back and bald
from now on I will ignore fried sharks
and open up my belly to her
and not worry about lightning striking me
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The mind is fogged
The mind is fogged after hours deprivation of sleep
I render reality through a teacup
a feeling that it might revamp me
The birds outside sing as normal
and the world did not change so much
The mind is fogged with hours of thoughts
The mind is fogged
I have not had cotton candy for years
a missing element
in the sanity/insanity cycle
The mind is fogged through reading others
who don’t know what it is that it is
that moves
me and
you
The shame of immovability
the shame of inproductivity
the shame of shame
the fogged mind cares so much
I run straight for the wall
blank numb hit white stars
the nugget bounces
and finally a clear thought
sets sail
Copyright 2010 Joran C.A. Monteiro
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