Showing posts from March, 2014

Crappiest place on earth with art by Arthur Gonzalez

Indeed, we found rat turds in the kitchen.
Mickey and Minnie hosted a soiree.
We killed ten in May; they were back by June
while the Mars Café sold a hundred trays
of fries each day, cleansed in canola oil.

Just down from Journey Into Inner Space
was our rat hole, a door nobody saw.
We cussed in under-park tunnels, made days
magic for marks as un-mustachioed,
supporting-cast. We’d sneak oral and waltz

to get paid, shuck the shit-suits and go home.
Some artist in the sixties drew them all
shooting up, fighting, pimping and whoring.
I Xeroxed it and papered my wall. We
would get baked and hysterical: Daisies

spread for Goofies, Donalds counted the bills,
Plutos lifted their legs in wet salute.

The library with calligraphy by Marna Scooter Cascadia

The library

    for Marna Scooter Cascadia and John Fox

John and I ordered two slices
and a raspberry soda each.
We ate and took turns reciting
snips and strophes within easy reach,
chuckling, focusing or sighing

to fit the words, until our speech
joined together at Innisfree.
We chanted that secluded beach
into being. John beamishly
coaxed in Yeats’ cat, Minnaloushe,

who puzzled the moon, far and wee—
and so we came upon Cummings
hiccupping that typography
over our paper plates and crumbs.
We stood up. It was time to teach

of what had passed and what would come,
how poems make a honeycomb.

3 Dancing Daniels