songanddancegirl

the real deal

wrote my fave satirist  George W. Saunders  of

Booker prize fame  and he wrote back!  husband

concerned his trippy wisdom would steal my heart

but my heart is firmly with le bron  +i have clearance

George remains my muse  along with Cormac  in his

response to my worshipful missive  George intoned:

what is apparently real + what is real are not necessarily the same

TRIPPY!

( don’t forget he’s a satirist  right!)

So here is my list of what is apparently real:

birth

death

love

time

space

God

neurons

atoms

husband

+what is real real:

dinosaurs

taxes

basketball

fidelity is  apparently real

ok gotta go!

zoom date with Trae Young

in five

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Winter 2021

my brother wrote the killer line in this poem*

i was never free  not for one second   well maybe

writing a poem at Bacchanal in Nola  husband+a bro

drinking ghostriders  then later showing Monk Boudreaux

my pocket pig🐷

did u know pigs represent fecundity  big time?   piggy

banks   just a bastardization  of the fecund goddess

pennies from heaven?   or worshipping mammon?

*(here comes that killer line)

but  if i cover my eyes  can u still see me?   can u see me

cutting the last cord  that keeps me in captivity  umbilical

first cut   then quickly fused to matter   final cut will be a

fucking rodeo

with Mark  the Rifleman’s son presiding   + Rabbi Monson too

he who said: every year after 70 is a miracle!   and also

during my Jewish divorce:

if he wants to remarry   he pays half   no free rides  

but Rabbi   i cracked him open!   Monson grabbed my collar hard

 if you give it for free  you slave in a kitchen  

husband in question has yet to claim his ghett

so should i charge him?  or ice him?   if i cover my eyes  maybe you won’t

see me collecting   the schvartzgelt   this poem is not PC

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Winter 2021

*JMA married in the same basement room of my ghett should begin his memoir posthaste

i’m a man of wealth+taste

he had yellow hair  +a wicked combover  a swiss cheese-ey elvis

face strangely pitted  bloated  bugeyed  the wife a mail order bride

with fangs    they’re gone now  crawled back under the rock from

whence they came

but america will never be the same   74+ million  deplorables  some

with long guns +horns  crawled out too   grunting   now forcibly

separated from his de base   by the stolen election   he weeps   as

Mel tells her pallid son:  be best  and go back to your room

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Winter 2021  ..it’s lonely at the bottom..

the covidvaccine+the doctor from mars

my unique identifier was  KMA  !  at the covid vaccine clinic

where i scurried just yesterday  every aspect was a test  test

your mettle  your herdishness  your commitment to not dying

dr. vanderbeeek was cheeky  rubbed my deltoid hard  so hard

that i went into ecstatic confessions  re: David Bowie on my tee

at one point v.beeeks hand slipped from the ubermassage   to

david’s face atop my left boob  (ew)  +our eyes met over germy

masks   later when i told a brother  he wondered if i’d gone crazy

likely the manic-y  delivery

OMG!  HE MASSAGED MY SKINTAG   AND THEN HE..

later when i returned home to husband  afibrulate +supine  with one eye

on the tv  he twitched spasmodically  to my tale of v.beeek’s slimfingers

+ tenderness       (*mums the word on his 10 calls to my cell today)

so  who among u would be surprised at this juncture  to see spaceships

descending   or horny doctors with crepey handskin     stroking??

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Winter 2021   ..would it kill u to put on a little Nivea?..

cowgirlblues

i asked father who his favourite cowboy was   (he was mine)

he said  Tom Mix   back in those days  i loved cowboys with a

passion too big for a small girl  but i did   Mark the rifleman’s

son visited my room of an evening   +when father took me to

meet him at maple leaf gardens  i swooned  +swanned around

like ginalolofuckingbrigida

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Tom Mix and his horse rode the shadow range, punishing evil-doers. 

But Tom never kissed the heroine. He seemed very much in love with

his horse.  (Al Purdy  1993)

Winter  2021

..daddy was way better looking than tom..

+would have highly approved of gina..

can u hear me hear u

have u heard of mindfulness meditation?   it’s a new religion

for the body/sensory dead  21st century humans  learning to:

see  smell  taste  touch  +hear   with alacrity

with slow  ness

with numinosity

with a pinprick  of passion

these folks are the living dead  not exactly zombies (they were once alive)

no  these drones are dead to  frissonosity  made dead by: tech meets fame

meets social media  (+now distancing)

so how will anyone know they’re alive post-covid?  when taste+smell loss  are

not signals of an impending mortuary visit   let’s face it   if u have to suck on

a fig  for 10 minutes  to know the ambrosial  u might as well start digging your

own grave

all work+no play  make the modern human  a dullwitted void   this has never

been my issue  quite the opposite  poets see purple  in fig-ecstacy   smell

earth  at 30 below   now masked  even the smile  is an autopilot reminder  of

the deadness in alive

post-covid   survivors will return to smiling vacantly   at every  tom  dick +hairy

while millions of dead  will have sewn-on smiles  like the ones on some people’s

masks    +we will remember the days when we woke up screaming

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How the noises stopped. And so did the terror. It was ended. But the 

memory doesn’t end. It stays, hovering on the edge of consciousness

where the beasts with onion heads may still be waiting. (Al Purdy 1993)

Winter 2021

on a dark manor hiway

their childhood homes are being sold  +they weep at roadsides

approaching 30  with simple grins   i remember that time  in my

prime   i’d moved on by then  living in semi-sin  with #1

but that house  sold on the free market  is nail-tethered   + in

dreams  when sailors are busy elsewhere  there is  the HOUSE

old uncle morty built   the emotionally crippled brother  of our

father

morty loved cigs +smokey scotch  died of throat cancer  after

spending 40 yrs. on a leather couch  in pj’s  but hey  i am not

morty’s keeper  + digressions bring night weasels

the HOUSE appears  all 1950’s+backsplit  but it is the garage

always the garage  that i find myself in  dustbin  broken cars

dead cigars  horsey accoutrements   daddy was a ramblinman

we found adoption papers there  (no not the asian bros)  up in

a trunk   +aladdin briefly fondled our redheaded friend ron  but

the genie in the trunk  rent a hole the size of  say   montreal

in the fabric of our nativity scene

+we still get dragged back there  where the dustgrime is perma

but we’re in the process of a massive clean up  sanitize the family  ghost

vaccinate the shit outta them him  +would someone throw out the

dead rabbit in the corner  fer chrissakes

i’d thought he’d fled!

the horror  the horror

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Winter 2020  ..he’s about to be born..

what light?

shit! it’s the spaceship  loud swoosh with zzhhh  outside my

window  at 4:13 a.m.   i knew they would come one day   too

much Neil Young at 14  ok  i know your minds are racing ahead  to probes

probing questions asked around my bed  led by one with

round head  all corona +spikey  (no not iggy)  why do people in

their late 90’s  keep the lights on 24/7    WHY?

injections of alien vaccine should u not be full of answers

one gormless guy with yellow hair says: this one was made in 190 days

is largely untested   +u may become sterile

oh  so it’s not immunize the herd

it’s  sterilize the herd   (cause yer still fucking peasants as far as i can see)

wow   an even smarter strategy  than the one child policy

but all i could come up with was:  they cling to the spacetime

continuum   as to their dead mother’s hand  darkness is not an old friend  ditto silence

i have to say it stung   it was a long q-tip like device

+ they shoved it pretty far in

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Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night. (Dylan Thomas)

..the other dylan

Winter 2020

trickiedickie yellowbellied managers be damned

she is not  cargo  not the cargo  the manager makes her

we’ll just move her to 804  there’s running water there   

a strange  empty ish  apartment   does it even have

a tv  to which  they can rehitch  her soul?

then he prays for her covidtested carcass   pray for

rosemary’s baby better   +back away from the lady

in orange shoes   human cargo to mr. manager

mother to some

in the news today  they say suicide is up by 1/3  from

last year  +the numbers of self reported ideation  quadrupled

where are all the psychiatrists  who are going to decant

the terrible claustrophobia  that is covid?

and leave it simmer like steaming cowpatties in fields

get real  this transit is marching along  snail  repetitive

+ mindnumb  which is exactly what you’d want from a

pandemic

as a friend noted  his mother was so much easier to deal

with   once demented

__

Winter 2020  ..doublespeak is for losers..

STOP THE PRESS!

a new line  on my forehead  in the mirror this morn

it goes in it’s own direction  just like my flying burrito

bro did this week  on an icy citystreet  on a goddamned

visionquestala

the albino squirrels known to haunt our park applauded

as pedestrians looked away  +one kicked him in a leg   that

has since gone missing

ape i have no feeling in my leg  or in my soulhole  everything went real slo  w

hey that’s the brain show!  u know  when your life passes before

your eyes   he saw the shetl  the bordello in looziana  +the goddam gates

of the Warsaw ghetto  (he freakin breached the spacetime continuum!)

but this new line on my forehead  is some cruel gift from father time

make hay

decrepit poet

make hay

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Winter 2020  🦇..the centro senex bat uses it’s bizarre facemask for sex..🦇  oy