GwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwD G G w _____ ____ 1 333 333 "The Dregs of My Poetry" w D // | \ 11 3 3 by Yancey Slide D * || ____ | || | 1 333 333 * G || || \ / | || | 1 3 3 issue #133 of "GwD: The American Dream G w \\___// \/\/ |____/ 111 333 333 with a Twist -- of Lime" * rel 06/10/03 w D D GwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwD --- -- - -- --- -- - -- --- -- - -- --- -- - -- --- Sweet My black-sugar baby in a pretty plastic dress Hums a bubbly bit for me, a thrill when I can't find none, in class, at work Just anytime, my baby is there, Sweet as ever, to keep me on top. But when the top stays off, baby gets Cloying sweet, sticky, nasty, mean, all the Fun's let out. Baby ain't bubbly, pour her out. Always another baby; ain't but Two bits apiece. (2/11/03) We grew up in Texas but when it was time to marry Kailas came north, to where she was from New Hampshire where it's pretty. (In Trivandrum, the city blushes with saris and songs, and smiles to see the easy English name retire behind the coconut trees of Thiruvananthapuram) Two families, two weddings, Like a brother I'm invited, to India but I can't go, there's no way to pay, there's no Atlantic train, smoky, stuffy, and stuffed- full of smoking men, sprouting from windows, like bald Ben Kingsley as Gandhi, coming home. (Kerala blooms, and families, like flowers, drift down rivers that are clean like holy things are to meet the foreign girl, and send her down the river, to drift, like flowers until she's clean like holy things and families are.) New Hampshire, A nice day, a nice service I officiate, as compromise, not collared priest or inscrutable ascetic; acceptable to the families, I walk them through a nice service, with flowers and a song. (Ganesha leers at Vishnu's spear on brassy gongs that ring in wedding songs, as her hands are henna-bound, in nut-brown whorls that stoop and twist around her wedding band and the flowers given to the fire) In New Hampshire, Christ is satisfied, his service done; Ganesha waits his turn while I sit on the steps and think of him and Thiruvananthapuram. (2/17/03) Sidling, I slipped in late, twisted through the angry knees that stiffened as I snuck a peek from a far-back seat, too far to see if you were smiling, and too far for you to see me if you looked; I smiled, but didn't stop, I just kept creeping, closer to the stage, past any empty seats, as long as I kept moving, clambering seeping through the angry knees, I wouldn't sit and see you not seeing me. I picked around the ragged line of laps and furled programs, rolled like sweaty cigarettes to smolder in impatient thighs that snapped as I folded mine, pristine, to prove that I was there. I slunk around the jutting, pointing feet of honest folk, who pointed toes at me but sucked it in and twisted while I scrabbled, penitent but unpausing until I was close and you could have seen me if you looked. I hunkered, stretched, and touched the stage, to moor against the crests of knees and shoals of hooking ankles, and watched, to see if you were smiling; when I knew I cast off, reversed my course, and climbed back out again. (02/25/03) Green dream A tree buries its head, and roots its proboscis and ten thousand tongues into the earth, where it eats, constantly, and mulls the green dream of swarming, beetle-bright leaves that frothed on brittle stick legs and crawled against the wind. Manic, it will not bear red thoughts of fruit when the million facets of its one bright eye have stared into the sun and burned brown and dropped, like flies, to creep into the dirt that it chews. (03/03/03) Ghazaline I will spare one eye for you to keep in the light a gecko that waits and sleeps in the light. To brew a sweet tea, we'll eat herbs and pool our sweat to steep in the light. Purple is a night shade, that ferments in bars and looks cheap in the light. A spasm sends your skirts out, to skirl and stretch out to sweep in the light. A lozenge pins my teeth to either side, and spat, dives deep, deep in the light. The grit in my vein is a platelet, plaintive it wails for a wound, to weep in the light. Put your lips to my ear and Call into the night, "You sot! Open up! Let seep in the light!" (03/11/03) 1. My books fold space around themselves like black-letter black holes; they are too heavy to bear thinking about. The train can only bear so much mass, before it would curl in on itself, and throw me back to work. My brother's couch is padded with stinking cat hair, but warm and so much like home. 2. My books smother space and time and immure me in law, like black-letter black holes. My ticket prods the train to climb and shudder on its tracks, straining to lull me while it pulls me from the well. My brother's cats obliterate me but even their stinking hair doesn't make it less like home. 3. My books smother space and time and immure me in law, like black-letter black holes. My ticket prods the train to climb and shudder on its tracks, straining to pull me from the well. My brother's couch is padded with stinking cat hair, but warm and so much like home. (3/18/03) Fourteenth Edition Every thing in this room orbits the black-letter black hole that buffets me from where it sits and warps my desk into a bowl. I teeter on the lip, and feel the prod of guilty conscience make me roll faster than I'm inclined to plod to work when there's a TV set to lull me with a cheery bright facade. I'll ward myself against the pull of all the cases I should be reading by thinking just how dull the law can really be, but heeding inexorable dutiful gravity; there's no chance of my succeeding against the terrible depravity of this textbook's awesome cavity. (3/18/03) Law is a gullet that does not swallow ever. (3/19/03) --- -- - -- --- -- - -- --- -- - -- --- -- - -- --- Issue#133 of "GwD: The American Dream with a Twist -- of Lime" ISSN 1523-1585 copyright (c) MMIII Yancey Slide/GwD Publications /---------------\ copyright (c) MMIII GwD, Inc. All rights reserved :LASERBEAM BOZOS: a production of The GREENY world DOMINATION Task Force, Inc. : GwD : Postal: GwD, Inc. - P.O. Box 16038 - Lubbock, Texas 79490 \---------------/ FYM -+- http://www.GREENY.org/ - editor@GREENY.org - submit@GREENY.org -+- FYM GwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwDGwD