scarecrow poetics/essays
Monday, February 27, 2006
Pagan Cunts a Virtue, She Says*...
but I won't listen to your thoughts. Granny cooks away her distress in
the kitchen, little Petey comes over with a frying pan and pretty soon
the whole garden is at play, broiled rats and all. Ensconced in father's
lessons of the moment, newspaper weighs its course through bat-bitten
days of sandpaper and toiletries. When pa chokes on a bone, another
master of the house will take his place until the next mystery leaks out
of granny's bra (Arsenic and Old Lace), steering the kindergartners away
from the old wench's gnawed hambone face towards another reality to
chase. I
love you mama when you put on the mittens in the way it makes me feel
fresh inside which you know by now is a fallacy after all you've smelled
and tasted, sensory by-products of an era you never imagined yourself
keeling - but you never had much of an imagination now, or did you hide
it lasso milky weighs the cupboard. Mirrored agenda a faze I knew how to
interpret before I lost the guide, now I dream in black and white, but
my fans say I'm more colorful now. A peep emerges from the muted
conscience. Meted choke of victory perhaps a cornucopia in the bodily
dilated eyeball the spots on that blouse seem to unearth, whether
spotted on purpose by the perilous designer or merely stains to coincide
with a subconstrued warmth in the hands of the enlightened few. I want
to blanch you out of my system. I know you're already there, happening,
love.
the kitchen, little Petey comes over with a frying pan and pretty soon
the whole garden is at play, broiled rats and all. Ensconced in father's
lessons of the moment, newspaper weighs its course through bat-bitten
days of sandpaper and toiletries. When pa chokes on a bone, another
master of the house will take his place until the next mystery leaks out
of granny's bra (Arsenic and Old Lace), steering the kindergartners away
from the old wench's gnawed hambone face towards another reality to
chase. I
love you mama when you put on the mittens in the way it makes me feel
fresh inside which you know by now is a fallacy after all you've smelled
and tasted, sensory by-products of an era you never imagined yourself
keeling - but you never had much of an imagination now, or did you hide
it lasso milky weighs the cupboard. Mirrored agenda a faze I knew how to
interpret before I lost the guide, now I dream in black and white, but
my fans say I'm more colorful now. A peep emerges from the muted
conscience. Meted choke of victory perhaps a cornucopia in the bodily
dilated eyeball the spots on that blouse seem to unearth, whether
spotted on purpose by the perilous designer or merely stains to coincide
with a subconstrued warmth in the hands of the enlightened few. I want
to blanch you out of my system. I know you're already there, happening,
love.
Travis Jeppesen © 2006.
*This poem is taken from Travis Jeppesen's new collection: Poems I Wrote While Watching TV.
Travis Jeppesen was born. He wrote a novel. It's called Victims. It was published in America by Akashic Books, and in Russia by Eksmo. His new book is called Poems I Wrote While Watching TV. It has illustrations by Jeremiah Palecek, and will come out in March. His work has/will appear(ed) in Purple, Prague Literary Review, 3am Magazine, Another Magazine, ZOO, thefanzine.com, New York Press, Bookforum, Pretend I Am Someone Else, Thee Flat Bike, dorfdisco.de, Pavement Magazine, Shampoo Poetry, Can We Have Our Ball Back, and a bunch of other places you've probably never heard of. He edits BLATT.
posted by scarecrow # 1:39 PM 
