Saturday, August 24, 2019

Screen Dump 474

Your oversized straw hat smirks innuendo
as it tunnels through an off-key dream sequence . . .
Hard work . . . when you can get it . . .
Can you imagine the mixup
highlighted for future reference chomping along? . . .
The rest was nothing much despite the normative inflation
which of late seems to have become your thing . . .
as if strengthening your core
curriculum with tacky math problems
and anti-static sheets
will translate into an anaerobic Dean's List . . .
The placeholder . . . confrontationally aloof . . .
pontificating in a faint, hippy-ish voice
that makes it hard to tell if he/she is joking . . .
It's kind of like repeat after me
as the concrete gargoyles refuse to dry
and this after the rigmarole of YouTube . . .
Time and again . . . something or other . . . Which is it? . . .
You have become adept at reconfiguring passwords
into anagrams for the keto set . . .
Here's that mountain of prejudicial evidence . . .
At one time funeral parlors, yes?. . .
Driving through a downpour, pinging . . .
Again . . . what's your IP address? . . .
Just checking to see if you have incorporated the go-betweens
into your bid for bluebook collectibles . . .
Ribbons and bows . . . of course . . .
and pedal-to-the-metal instances
when playing Spin the Kiosk with neighborhood pranksters
who know enough to wait in the wings . . .


Thursday, August 22, 2019

Screen Dump 473

Everything seems to be happening out there . . . not in here . . .
the life of your interior monologue
sucked dry by the black leather overly-zippered motorcycle jackets
parading the catwalk . . . the pretend-pudding pop-up
all augmentation . . . the recipe shouting out ingredients . . .
Trying to please uniformed players . . .
free agents force-fed the how-to manual
while side-stepping backstory politics (Unfair?) . . .
You were back-and-forth for a while . . .
juggling schedules with having-to-be-there-then . . .
tripping over the dynamics of being in-the-moment
while regressing to the convenience of taking dictation
with rubberized accoutrements . . .
finally escaping to the Cape for what some would consider
a ploy . . . but the logjam was such that
the entries were botched . . . and first-responders were on break . . .
You could have at least called it in
but that would have in effect amounted to an admission of something
as the sloop slips through the harbor . . .

Serkan Alpsar

Saturday, August 17, 2019

Screen Dump 472

Color-coding the alphabet is a nice touch
with your dreams tweaked to fit
and the marina stacked with tall ships . . .
The method . . . as demo'd in the studio . . .
Decades since you assumed the position
leveling the playing field
pulling down the visor
to use the mirror to apply lipstick . . .
your forward-facing eyes spelling predation . . .
on a sweltering August afternoon
all ribbons and bows
(at least for some)
welcoming auditioners with downward-facing-dog . . .
The day written up and played with gusto . . .
I'm sure it meant something . . . to someone . . .

Jan Scholz

Thursday, August 15, 2019

I Continue To Get Older (Performance Piece)

I continue
I continue
I continue
To get older   

I continue
I continue
I continue
To get older

It's not fair
I'm losin' my hair
First it turned gray
Now it falls away
Each and every day

Other hairs appear
Uninvited
Unannounced
Unwelcomed
In unexpected places

They've begun to colonize
My ears, nose, and eyes

I continue
I continue
I continue
To get older   

I continue
I continue
I continue
To get older

I can't see
what I'm doin'
I can't taste
what I'm eatin'
I can't hear
what I'm sayin'
I can't say
what I'm thinkin'
I can't think
what I'm sayin'

My nose grows
My chest is recessed

My teeth decay
They fall away
Gum has become a verb, OK?
I don't go out to play
Much anymore

I continue
I continue
I continue
To get older   

I continue
I continue
I continue
To get older

I can't get it up
I can't get it down
In bed
I'm Bozo the Clown

I shrivel
I shrink
I piddle
I stink

My crepey skin
Is all done in
It’s a sin, a no-win
This shape I'm in

I can't see
I can't pee
There is no glee
Left in me

My wrinkled face
Stares into space
My final frontier
Is here!

i c u by Tom Corrado

Thursday, August 1, 2019

Screen Dump 471

The skeletons in your closet gloat their Harleys
as a bobber dips below the surface
and you imagine a plate of crêpes with an old friend
in a seaside town
catching up on interpersonals
the who what when where whys
of your collaborative one-acts . . .
You consider skipping the chapter
(you've done this before with little consequence)
but step down . . . tiller glued to your palm
as if guiding a sloop through a narrow canal
within arms reach of kids fishing off the pier . . .
The clock flusters
wringing its hands which must resume
their pantomime of stuttered signage . . .
words infinitely looped to storm ignorance . . .
Again the palette complicates . . .
Perhaps you should use ultramarine to color
the major and minor keys
soundtracking your tête-à-têtes
on rain-soaked afternoons . . . in rain-soaked sidings . . .

Fabio Chizzola