poetics unleashed: michael internicola


empty empty spaces

rick and stacy were sitting on some
steps and sar walked by and rick
her but
she didn’t
see them
or maybe she did but it was awkward
so she sped by. what a stupid conversation
they all would have had, “what’s mike up to?”-
sar might have
asked them and
they would have
said, “i don’t know. i
haven’t seen him in so long…”-then rick would laugh
and she’d laugh, “where is he living?”-rick’d ask
sarah and sar’d answer, “i don’t know. we don’t
talk anymore.”-and then she’d walk away
feeling stupid and small and rick and
stacy would kiss because they’re
married and still


mr. campbell

“in the logical sense of the word you are an artist.”-
he told me, “you are very rare and being with an artist
is a very difficult thing. it’s a human being thing. they
have tremendous short comings. road blocks to everything
they do but they have to have that. everything is a
paragraph. everything is a chapter for a writer. in
your case you need a woman who understands this.
she’s creative. another artist or maybe not but she must
possess the understanding part. that’s most important.
an individual with whom you trust completely. you have
to be very selective in who you get close to. she has to
read your work and be amazed and give you the leeway
to live the kind of life your gonna live. no warm bodies.
problem is a woman changes at a certain age. they want
the security of a nice place. money to live the lifestyle.
in time you may very well have the big house but there
is a chance this will never happen. she should be good
with this. her belief in what your doing will have to be
good enough and she may not be the prettiest one
either because that’s all bullshit. this kind of woman
will give you the mark and what you provide for her
will be the most deserving thing she could ever imagine
feasting her heart on. you got it. now take it and use it.”


i’d just cry in front of you

like a pussy and i’d look at the
two bucks and the cologne you
got me last year, the cigarettes and the
lifestyles, the watered down whiskey
and the zep cd and i’d cry. i’d
cry all over the hotel key and the bottle
opener, the picture of san francisco, the ash
tray and the thing of water. i’d cry
in front of you at how it’s ending. i’d
just cry in front of you.


blankets of snow on a plate of beef wellington

she walks bent
over a little bit
on blankets of snow
and she likes to
laugh and she wants to be in love
more than anything else in this world.

her favorite dish is some steak number
i can’t pronounce and she wears
a watch from tiffany’s
that her father gave her when she was twenty one years old.

she walks bent
over a little bit
on blankets of snow
and she likes to
laugh and she wants to be in love
more than anything else in this world

and she stands by that love or no love and always smiles.
she’s the stem that holds up everything beautiful
like her pink toe nails or the tango.


Originally published:
Issue Thirty-Two
September 2004


Michael Intericola came to New York City to go to film school and in those seven years has written five books, made a movie, sold manicures and pedicures and served many many drinks. The poems included here are from two separate poetry books, Malism and The Darkest Place Is Under A Streetlight. Excerpts from his novels, Kiss Me Baby, Sunflowers!, Chaz, and All Our Skies Are Blue have appeared in Caffeine Magazine, The Quadrangle, Mule and The Mosquito Lounge Review, which he started in Los Angeles in 1996.  More from Michael can be found in the Vault of Smoke.

Comments are closed.