A Visual Poem
Transcript:
it’s an abstraction
these tell-tale moments
these double entendres
that make up what’s left of you
why does everyone have to be your friend?
Continue readingTag: loathing
Video: the hippocratic oath
up your efforts
A poem.
i’m sitting in her truck
as she drives through an expanse
and i’m hopelessly stuck,
watching for the tells on her face.
my love is late.
my dreams always end this way.
tick tock anticipating,
still staring at a big stupid screen
with Sinéad stuck in the CD player
that needs to be replaced
but these days there isn’t anywhere else
for me to be.
cant get away, rolling
over myself again,
relentless, blistering, reddening –
an early Spring and long-passed petaling,
her ride, her music i’m listening,
lording
how many times before have i
fallen on my sword
because i was bored?
how many afternoons past with plans on plans to get
on track
only to find my way back?
more than the fingers
and toes and
Geppetto’s nose & cock can count.
life wears its hair how one likes just to spite
with a perfect white smile which bites.
//wd 7.29.2023
Photo by Mehmet Turgut Kirkgoz on Pexels.com.
lick rich
A poem for CME.
yummy yummy ladies on my screen,
more than McLuchan could have foreseen,
smouldering my sensibilities like raw limonene
being rubbed in bare, bewitched eyes
in a Ludovico machine.
i’ve never ridden in the back of a limousine
snorting coke off a celebrity’s caboose.
unlucky me.
but every day if i so choose,
i can watch the car-hobby show they produced
with that chick who specializes in rust repair
who was only seventeen when that episode aired
but now that she’s eighteen, she doesn’t care
if those bikini selfies of hers’ are out there?
short swings
A one-act play for mature audiences.
“Two people confront one-another about their feelings, at the wrong place, at the wrong time, in the wrong way – and possibly, to the wrong person.”
THE SCENE
A party in a suburban home. Nighttime.
THE CAST
Kristan, she/her, 30s, standoffish, with coloured hair.
Kevin, he/him, 30s, brazen.
Graeme, 30s, a smoking guest.
Tommy, 30s, his friend.
A Man in a Suit, 30s, a silent weirdo.
Karl, a drunk partygoer, adult-aged.
Holly, a curious partygoer, adult-aged.
A Goof, 30s, an idiot.
*
As the audience enters the theatre, the CURTAIN is CLOSED and the HOUSE LIGHTS are ON. In front of the curtain at STAGE-LEFT, under a spotlight, is a patio chair and an outdoor table with an ashtray on it. On STAGE-RIGHT, on a bench, sits A MAN IN A SUIT – looking forlorn, “smoking” a cigarette, ashing on the ground. Behind the curtain, you can hear bass-heavy background music, played at a minimal volume.
Five-minutes before the start of show, GRAEME enters STAGE-LEFT. He “lights” a cigarette and stares out into the crowd like he’s looking-out from a porch. Occasionally, GRAEME will look at the MAN IN A SUIT, but the MAN IN A SUIT does not look back, nor do they share any pleasantries.
HOUSE LIGHTS FADE. TOMMY enters STAGE-LEFT, also “lighting” a cigarette.
TOMMY
Hey Graeme!
GRAEME
Tommy! What’s shaking?
TOMMY & GRAEME “pound” fists.
TOMMY
Not a whole Hell of a lot. I thought I’d never run into someone I know here.
GRAEME
Yeah, me neither. The wife dragged me. But it’s nice to see you!
TOMMY
You too! Are you coming with us next weekend?
GRAEME
To do what?
TOMMY
The guys didn’t tell you?
GRAEME
No…
TOMMY
Oh. Well we’re all going hunting.
GRAEME
(apprehensive) Hunting, huh?
TOMMY
Yeah. Don’t take it too personal. If anyone asks just say I invited you.
GRAEME
No, it’s not that. I’m just not sure how comfortable I’d be with going hunting.
TOMMY
If you’re sad for the deer, it’s an annual cull.
GRAEME
Yeah, there’s that. But it’s mostly just all the random shootings going on everywhere. I don’t know how cool I am going shooting for fun when kids are getting killed for no reason.
theory of a daskeman 