Poem: Polling

Non-college-educated white voters, is the worst band name

I thought of today, so far, though it’s early

in the day, I’ve hours, miles of inspiration

to traverse in silence, I press on

though it could take hours

as quick as I can to polish

my knob, is I’d say probably

three minutes on an average afternoon

in window light illumination

or a computer screen, that’s from erection to completion

which skews the data in my favor, or would, I suppose

should I take any, but I’m confident

thanks to my girlfriend

in my dick size and shape.

Poem: Polling

Poem: Comedian

Flip them off, all of them, to satisfy yourself

if nothing else, young master is defiant and unafraid

shivering in the moonlight sweater

weather daunting, shivering tremors

regret and disabuse, saying “never again”

again, knowing it to be a lie

this time as last, you will eat from a trough

like a pig, choking on cackles of spite

superiority and mimicry, the tools in your satchel

slipping away, to look for the truth.

 

About you or the condition of the world

fun will be a construct, someday once I find it

raised on a pedestal, skeletally still for one

momentary lapse in judgement, repeated ad nausea

until it makes you sick, a second person

figment of the imagination, you are an unreal

reeling rod, listen for the sinker drop

that never comes, though,

until you’ve already missed it

in the flood of sugary syrup.

Poem: Comedian

Poem: The Third Debate

In my throat, ashes and bile

watching this shit on the networks

internet forums and Facebook, I assume

exiting this cycle will feel as fire

from within, a chemical burn

seeming like our own fault, we all earned and asked for

this partisan shitstorm, bullshit spilling

communally into a great bowl.

Poem: The Third Debate

Movie review: Swiss Army Man

The Daniel Radcliffe/Paul Dano vehicle Swiss Army Man is hallucinatory, ludicrous, disgusting and emotionally rewarding at once.  The relationship between Paul Dano’s suicidal shipwreck survivor and Daniel Radcliffe’s Dead-body-that-washed-up-on-the-beach is heartwarming, hilarious, and strangely romantic.  Some people may be turned off by literally constant bouts flatulence, divining compass erections, and human beings being turned into fountains, but they may miss out on some truly joyful cinema.

From the instant it starts, Swiss Army Man announces its intention to be completely ridiculous, unbound by any common sense or physical laws of motion.  Dano’s summary of the events at the opening of the film give the audience its first big laugh.  “This man saved my life, when he allowed me to ride him like a jet ski, propelled by farts.”  Towards the end of this statement, Dano’s voice sort of trails off, because this reference to the physically impossible events in the rest of the film would by itself break the fourth wall.

The fourth wall is broken so constantly in the first half of the film that it might seem like overkill, but early in the movie, when Radcliffe’s corpse somehow gains a voice, this insane passion project gains real emotional depth.  As Paul Dano’s character explains the workings of the world to Radcliffe’s corpse, their relationship deepens, and each begins to rely on the other.  They have deep, emotionally resonant conversations about love and masturbation that are surprisingly heartwarming, and consistently hilarious.

As Swiss Army Man ends, several revelations about these characters and their backstories change everything.  The story takes several turns so crazy, they would have ruined a movie that wasn’t already nonsensical, but here they are used to wonderful effect.  All the insane plot developments, as explained by the main character at the end of the film, combine to make a story that is beautiful, hilarious, and life-affirming.

 

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Movie review: Swiss Army Man

Poem: Brutality

Tapestry of stories blood spattered, full of sex

and acid raindrops on the pavement, the universe imagining shadows

under streetlights, walking and whispering whimpers with their legs

reaching all the way up, hepatitis waiting

way over the horizon for each the same, how far is up to her

in this day and age unless things go very wrong it’s forever

for everyone involved, though a rapist would deserve a fiery hell

burning from the inside out, loud and bright for everyone

to feel indifferent to their nearness, his children would piss on his grave

before they commit suicide, paint a note on the wall in blood

while you die slow and alone, making for good copy

say the editors once more, crying aloud again

again and again, once more on the anniversary

party is a shadow hanging still, acting as a blindfold would

from the fires of the future, savagery emerges

smelling of bath salts, cardamum and a callous heart.

Poem: Brutality

Poem: Vision

Suicide shouldn’t ever be

private, town square strangling

stuck taught on a velvet line, that’s the only way

for us to go man, tattoo a manifesto

backwards on your chest

using a mirror, syntax insidious

devil horn maven, preferring those with dimples

jagged scars and burn marks, echoes

projecting fear on a cloudless

sky, we can all see the day

we die, but we’re probably wrong.

Poem: Vision

Poem: Big Shot

The king used to be a big shot

back in the days of protestants and shady deals, he was a perfect piñata,

a pincushion political prisoner, raised on a pike

in the village square for all to see, fretting out the frustration

sickness of the whole world, like Jesus laying

under a boulder,

flat like a pancake so no one could even hear

the WORD, and we don’t even know

what it would be.

 

Kings are of the past, though

everyone knows that the human

strives for servitude, he or she yearns for the open

air out loud, but staring at it is crippling

chaos twofold, or three or four, we can’t keep

count of our allies and enemies, breeding like mice

poison the well water with feces, take it all down

to the ground maggot paste,

listening to political jabber jaw radios has taught me capital letters

are POINTLESS, and the only time

is right here now.

Poem: Big Shot