poetics unleashed: lurch


caesar’s palace

In order to prepare myself for the big fight
I had to learn my opponent’s weaknesses,
which meant that I had to learn mine,
in the same way that it is necessary
to love one’s self, before
one can truly love others – or so they say.

And oh the love,
I spent years there in the desert,
more fucked-up than Jesus
and offered nothing by Satan,
not even Las Vegas.
I felt like Australia with its completely unknown
interior and signs of civilization around the edges,
aboriginal thoughts nearly extinct, something of a yahoo,
completely upside down.

I had to get on with it, though,
like Elvis said, “it’s now or never”,
or whatever Wayne Newton said
before Dankeshon darling thank you for the
memories, after claiming the title
Mr. Las Vegas.

Operating completely on the fly, winging it with jabs,
uppercuts, and the roundhouse,
swinging wildly,
Like Sinatra,
and almost as completely in the dark
in Caesar’s Palace,
a blazing place of neon
in a city of light shining like
an air-conditioned oasis
in the desert.

I asked my people,
the ones in my corner,
If I was doing OK.
they said, “sure, go ahead,
knock yourself out.”

– bill carney


the greek flu (aka archimedes’ screw)

I went to the doctor who told me I had a case of the Telly Savalases.

I demanded a second opinion so he informed me that I might be coming down with the Vitas Gerulaiteses.

And then he warned me about that other foreign, deadly virus, the Roman Polanskis.

The doctor said, “Make a sentence with the word ‘Demothenes’.”

I replied, “Demothenes can do is bend the legs.”

He told me to haul my Ari Onasis out of there.

Having just recovered from the Maria Callases,

I swallowed a good does of the John Cassavettes,

Warmed up a plate of the Felix Papalardis,

And tired to drink myself to sleep with a bottle of the Nana Maskouris,

Only to find that I had forgotten to take my Irene Pappases.

But by then it was too late, and I was in the bathroom with a severe attack of the Yannis.

– mike morgan


dog gone: for buster

Dug a hole at dusk with a spade
Opened the box wherein he lay
Took up the weight once proudly saved
Nestled his head on a root – Stay.

— rob cole


Originally published:
Issue Eight
April 2001

Comments are closed.