June 29, 2007 4th Fast {What Would the Anti-Christ Do?}

The fourth fast is over as we swing into the holiday week.

What's "on tap" for the fourth, as they say on the news shows around this neck of the woods.

I like the way they use slang from the bar room, the casinos, and the public urinals in this general area to make their communications clearer.


My creation this week is a mosh-mish, but it is the best I could think of.

I call it "What Would the Anti-Christ Do?" ... or "W W A-C D?"
Note: "Dajjal" is the Islamic name for the anti-christ, meaning "deceiver".

W W A-C D?

dajjal sits in falluja town
drinking the wine-red blood,
feeling down and desperate,
betrayed, misunderstood.

He’d won the Uruk lottery,
a date with the queen of death.
dolled up like a wedding bride

within a veil of Meth.

She bared her ugly fangs…
he would not fall for that.
he ran to dusty red Samarra
where she then left him flat.

And now he yearns for lovely death,
no voice to fill his ear,
no taut skinned bulemic body
to orgone this time of year.

Oh, allegory of appliance!
bacteria of the mind!
an iPhone for your thoughts, my dear!
and what we’ve left behind!

June 15, 2007 Second Week: {The Party Store Of Peace}

Faest or Faesten sound a lot like Feast or Fest(ival).
Appearances are deceiving.

Fasting is rather gruesome.
I allow myself tea and - in the afternoon- one or two cans of soda pop. My brain really needs the glucose by then.

Second Week Poem

The Party Store Of Peace

They were tearing up the roadway
by the party store of peace.
(no esta bodega…cerevisa no se vende aqui)
The sidewalk had been swallowed up
and there was no place to park,
so we drove around the corner,
by the flood plain,
it hadn’t rained for a while and
global warming gives us places to park.
So we got a meter with time on it,
near the killer colored tiles from
a mural made in oaxaca-
broken into pieces and half buried
that had lain next to the electrical transformer
ever since the city threw it out…
every year some kid stumbles onto it
for the first time…
and wonders what the hell!
and wonders what the oaxaca?
and then forgets.
I’d forget all this, too,
if it wasn’t tethered like Paris Hilton.

We walk by a ladies’ store
a fossil found in stone,
with clothes in showy windows
as you funnel to the door.
Inside the Andrews Sisters sing on the PA.
Finally we arrive at the party store of peace:
(no esta bodega…cerevisa no se vende aqui)
the a/c is on the fritz,
the peace owner is wearing an orangey plaid shirt
with striped shorts and hot pink alligator shoes-
his white hair as long as that
of a guy that makes candles and soaps
for the farmers’ market-
somewhere a woman screamed.
the supplier in Carolina had a new batch of ink;
the crescent moon silver is now
a battleship grey…I mean, don’t you think you’d
let us know?
2,000 cards! she will call! we will hear about this!
and mrs. ormond’s order wuz never even shipped!
called Virginia myself…liar!
fedex got zippo from zip code there to zip code here!
bupkis! kis my bup!
So I said, yeah, my suppliers used to change quality
and leave it for us to find out…
it is so damn hot!
May I get a peace card?
all out.
When…? Next week for the fast?
dunno. haven’t paid the peace bill…
It was so hot; we went
to drown our thirst
in the ABM Sports Bar
next to WMD Books.
Drinks were on me
and I paid with what little was left
from my peace dividend.