Thirteen Myna Birds

21.

Wednesday

~MISH~

*

20.

Voices

Lately, the local Christian radio station

has been coming through the vacuum cleaner when I turn it on

or over the radio in the stations of silence, the static in between channels

possibly through other appliances, too, so quietly

that I can’t be sure if I’m being lectured by a radio preacher

or just the voices in my head.

 

Sometimes, when I’m vacuuming, and I hear that voice

telling me how I’ve sinned, how we’ve all sinned

when I hear a gospel choir swelling beneath the rumble of the wheels

catching against dog hair or sand tracked in from outside

it feels like these voices are not such an accident after all

 

that I’ve been targeted by the crowds

carrying signs at the abortion clinic downtown

by the stern-looking men and women parading in and out

of the church at the end of the block

by a disapproving mother-in-law who whispered my name

through a confessional grate

 

this is how it all starts, and now that they’ve found me

things are only going to get louder around here

louder until I give up or give in.

~Holly Day~

*

19.

In Casual Conversation

The woman at the bus stop informs me

that all women have been raped at one time

or another, that at some point, what I thought

was love or affection was actually

brutal, torturous, an affront

to my femininity.

I don’t say anything to this.

I don’t want this person to know who I am.

The rain drizzles on

as the woman lectures me, tells me

we have got to stick together, the two of us

that all women are sisters

under the skin, and that the only way

we can stop this cycle of rape

is to stand up and say, “No!”

in one united, loud voice

or something like that.

The tiny hand on the face of my watch

tells me the bus should be by any moment

 

and knowing this gives me great joy.

No one needs to know anything else about me.

~Holly Day~

*

18.

"Much of a Muchness" from The Morning Papers Have Given Us the Vapours (by the black watch)

Listen HERE - https://theblackwatch.bandcamp.com/track/much-of-a-muchness-2

*

17.

Belief

the important thing is to

not die

though you have fuck-all

control over that

sometimes--

to be content

to exist

for however long--

not as long as the great pine

certainly

but longer than the moth

who burns itself out

in light

like answering a call of 

some kind

from a heaven

recruiting for the choir

of voices

singing

Inna God I Believe-a

or wanna

anyway.

~Wayne F Burke~

*

16.

Confession to Father S.

If I see an intriguing human

or canine,

I want to gulp them down,

learn their spine-lines,

trace their eyes

and mouth.

I give into temptation

whenever possible

because I’m greedy, Father.

The world delights me.

Shouldn’t I be free

to do that

if God

forgives me

like you said?

~MISH~

*

15.

Starfleet Commander

I tell the Starfleet Commander

in my dream: 

I know you hate me.

 

Short and athletic

with straight black hair

(my opposite),

she wears 

an officer’s 

silver jumpsuit,

laser gun in her belt. 

 

She represents

the woman the dreamer

desires to be:

effective, disciplined,

in charge.

 

But I see she’s

ready to yell at me,

and I don’t know why.

 

There are always plenty

of sides of me 

for the Commander

to hate. Jeez,

which part is it now?

 

My inner sloth,

my inner child,

or my inner 

bitch?

 

Peel me like an onion, o dream.

Taste my core.

~MISH~

*

14.

 A Homicidal Maniac

 A serial killer

With a hatred for the society

He lives in.

His crimes are cruel,

And his reason for murder

Is a wall that needs to be fed

Blood.

His mind is ravaged 

To the point of self-annihilation.

The comics he writes are either

Full of insanity

Or

Full of thoughts about the eternal suffering

Of life. 

~Alexandra Dark~

*

13.

Purple Elephant

~MISH~

*

12.

"Gobbledegook" from Weird Rooms (by the black watch)

Listen HERE - https://theblackwatch.bandcamp.com/track/gobbledegook

*

11.

Me Neither

you ever get off the Greyhound in from JFK--

sticky-stinky windy/muggy high-summer Grand Central Station, sidewalk

rubbish floating up at ya like attack-ghosts--

& start humping up Madison

with your Yonex rucksack & your guitar case held together

with stickers, rope, & a bit of hope

& suddenly everybody but everybody

you pass seems like someone you swear

you fucking know?  that whole entire Jungian 

oceanic sea of humanity motif & all?

yeah, me neither.

~John Andrew Fredrick~

*

10.

Sort Of

sometimes--not all times--you look

at what you've written & you wonder how you ever

ever ever thought it any good.

 

now swing that in a quasi-camp vaudevillian kinda

rat-a-tat accent & relax & have a laugh

at how writing is an act--

& a selfish-beautiful supersolipsistic one at that.

 

right now at Indian Wells Osaka's losing

to Osorio & I'm happy; the Columbiana has a tricky game:  lots

of variety, spin shots, dropshots, fiery.

& Osaka always looks & talks

like she's really stoned.

 

I'm stoned; so what

am I bloviating about?

on some fine Columbian, actually.

at least that's what the wrapper said.

trippy serendipity.

 

in the stands there's an insane fan--one with one 

of "those voices" that you'd kill to strangle--who keeps yodeling

all manner of not the ethics of tennis

& sportsmanship shall prevail.

 

"finish her!" he shrieks & claps

at the couple of double-faults

Osorio throws in.

 

some people.

sometimes you want to fry them.

 

you read The Letters 

of Mary Wortley Montagu

& think "How beautiful, how clear!  I know her; I see

her."  what twaddle.  you don't. well,

sort of, you do.

 ~John Andrew Fredrick~

*

9.

Walnut or Somewhere

kept getting these letters

that may as well have been perfumed.

interesting handwriting; somedeal calligraphic.

talked in enormous detail about her dark past.

in-depth indeed for someone

I had never met.

 

then the presents:

candles & shit.  incense sticks from Rajasthan.

not to sound callous, sniffy--

nice candles they were; eminently sniffable.

 

poems, delicately illustrated.

stars & fairy dust; spendy chocolates.

little drawings gold & purple, silver, yellow, tangerine & plum.

 

books followed (plus more letters):

thin classics she felt that I should read.

 

pictures of her as a babe

in college: the photobooth kind, very

sultry; her playing tennis in prep school.

Polaroids, no less.

& she was pretty then.

 

then the letters got more desperate--

huffy, psycho, Courtney Love

in a lather & a red teddy, red

high heels, & a leather jacket.  know what 

I did--after it got too risible-ridiculous?

I went over.

 

deep in The Valley:  Walnut or somewhere.

the address on the hippie-flower-stickered envelopes.

 

wow. hi.

there on her doorstep:

"You wanna shoot some hoops?" she said.

"Sure," I said.  "Why not."

 ~John Andrew Fredrick~

*

8.

i want ur sex

~MISH~

*

7.

Night Vision

 As the tide surges forward

From the heart of the ocean

A tiny white flower blooms

Against all the dark noises

Rising high along the coast

~Yuan Changming~

*

6.

Wandering

Walking through night crowds

I felt like a wounded wolf

Lost in a burned prairieland

 

Homeless, I kept wandering

More lonely than darkness

But no less serene than the stars

~Yuan Changming~

*

5.

Column of Fire

 

I can never write poetry

the moment I put the pen to it

the page bursts into flames.

I can never breathe

because oxygen is fuel

and I explode inside.

I can never live a life separate

from any other’s life

because we are all burning upward

in the same column of fire.

~James Moran~

*

4.

Bright Sunshine-y Day

~MISH~

*

3.

Hammer of the Gods

 Hammer!

 Hammer!

Hammer of the gods!

Your unrelenting blows

forge our souls!

Strike us so thin

we are the anvil’s skin!

Strike us so thin

we feel your gathering wind!

Strike us so thin

we are a resounding ring!

~James Moran~

*

2.

Self Portrait as Spider

I don’t want

to be a spider. I hate

insects

of any ilk.

 

It’s revolting

how I have these hairy legs

like my mother’s,

though I swore

I wouldn’t

let it happen.

Not to me.

 

My face has changed

to skull-bone,

covered in a hard shell.

No more hair on my head.

Teeth stained, missing.

Voice turned

screechy,

my soft hands, now

hard claws.

 

Someone should step

on me. Meanwhile,

I’ll hide in this

bed.

~MISH~

*

1.

"new brooms sweep clean" from The Morning Papers Have Given Us the Vapours (by the black watch)

Listen HERE -  https://theblackwatch.bandcamp.com/track/new-brooms-sweep-clean