Monday, January 7, 2013

Two poems by Joseph Goosey


Spastic and baseball season for my son 
Washed my clothes to go to Columbia 
I've always thought South Carolina could be done without
But here I here sit sweating through association 
handshakes get drunk 
eat chicken get drunk 
I forget your name so
I'm gonna start introducing myself as Hanz Lispector 
If I become a conversation piece 
I won't have to hold a conversation 
The laundry room rattles The train
farts across town 
Are we so desperate that 
We're so desperate that we fill out forms 
so the internet can inform us we'd be better off living in Leads
Thanks internet 
let me pack up all my shit for the third time this year
and call the multitude of friends I have to help me move 
I'm sure they'll be more than willing 
since they have toddlers jobs and law or med schools
April was a decent month 
Can't sit be inside of last April's womb
You were flying into town 
I was falling into thorns
On the day we spent together I didn't eat
and didn't notice
Another way of confirming you've enjoyed yourself
Now I shove down Wavy Lays and onion dip by the pound 
There's always sudden-adult-death syndrome 
There's always the train tracks 
There's always lost in the snow 
There's always more minutes on a calendar for which we never asked
There's always hosting a garage sale selling everything your cat
There's always Sundays with intentions of sobriety 
I am going to grow fat 
I am going to grow fat and squint Squint 
and throw five bucks toward the sun 



The dandruff of the situation 
Hollowed body - a self 
Construct walls human 
they protect the freedom to grieve 
but what about the freedom of the bigot
who, while deserving of a knocking of the genitals, 
has certain rights 
either that 
or none of us have certain rights 
(probably the case) 
Inside we're all a huge factory farm 
but the state fair remains depressing
read the signs 
but the baby ducks slide down a ramp 
and for some reason there're guinea pigs 
(not the customers) 
I placed my palm on on the breath of a cow 
and throwing the boxed up IHOP on the steps 
of the capitol building 
and calling in a police report 
claiming the place had been broken into 
just so the responding officer might think once
even for one minutes
about why all the pancakes on the steps of his state 
was the highlight of the trip 

Author bits: 

Joseph Goosey is in Southern Pines, North Carolina where he knows essentially no one. His work has appeared in some number of places. 

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