Breath stinks
Of brandy.
The woman, the drink.
The first girl
I ever slept with
Now works
For Brown Forman.
She’s still drunk I guess.
Author: johnbrandall
John Randall is a writer living in Missouri. His interests include camping, running, walking, cutting and burning wood, messing around with magnets, foraging, and listening to podcasts, many of them about baseball.
Misc. Haiku 46-50
46
Royal Success Systems —
Convincing people
That their graffiti is art
47
Dog ears appear
From the heart of a sleeping ball —
Truck w/ trailer passes by
48
Drove out to the
Country for some air —
Coming back, the city ahaze
49 (after Kerouac)
In the Belleville house,
My father’s
Abominable yawns
50
Is my head back this far?
I was just now having
The night’s first beer
Landscape: Benelux into Germany
a. A city like Rotterdam bombed, rebuilt The Nazis said submit or we’ll bomb you into the ocean The ‘Dammers submitted but got bombed anyway What’s the point in that? Now, taller buildings Europe’s busiest port A few coffeeshops tucked away. In a café, cream of mushroom soup, the best bread and a little butter in … Continue reading Landscape: Benelux into Germany
Shuffle
Damage by night,Construction by day.Boom and then depression.Glass of this, puff of e(i)ther.Sweat, flex, towel off.Screw this, screw that, watch the calories.Lunch today was a fruit bar.Worry the afternoon,Get ready for dinner, have a cold one. You build something up, you build a beltway.You find your muse and then you ask her to shut it. … Continue reading Shuffle
Songs for Art and Memory
All of the great
Songs about memory
And art
Have already been
Written. I didn’t
Have the .
I forget, I didn’t
Have the power.
Picasso said it all about
War, Petrelli could fly.
And here I am feeling
So ordinary.
Let me not have to go
To work
And curse the goddam computer
And overdose on coffee cup cures.
Picasso married the dancer in 1918.
Petrelli saved the world.
I’m content taking love for granted
And writing about the Senate.
I know,
This is just another poem.
Count Dracula Doesn’t Count
When DST kicked inThe door of NovemberEarth shook with time and temp. The river covered itself with broken clothing.The moon was but a stolen egg. Those of us suing EnergyFoamed butane thermsAt the incalculable mouth. Rabid with due datesWe had the delinquent notionTo run our ceiling fansCounter-clockwise in winter; To share the hot air fair.As … Continue reading Count Dracula Doesn’t Count
Master & Apprentice
I Compare them & see.The city of youthGrows up alongside the ageless river,Becomes apprentice of its flow.The river is bustlingBut always there,Always also there.You would think it doesBut it has nowhere to go.The city respondsWith pigeons, people,Seagulls on the backs of boats,Sligo Enterprises, precocious Sligo Steel.The smokestacks of necessary factoriesGrow first, test the wind. II … Continue reading Master & Apprentice
Ambidextrous
I’m holding two pens,
one in either hand.
One pen is for me,
one is for my muse.
I can’t write left-handed
but the muse can.
When my wife coughs
at midnight,
the heater burns with
orange light.
Tonight.
I lead with my left,
not my right.
Landscape: Inferior Interior
There is a tightness in my headAs if my eyes were chewing gum. Today I learned that tequila is not afraid to be its own drink.That is to say, it does not take orders. Not on the rocks.Not(e)s of coconut, pepper, and reminiscent moon. I have not meditated since last month.There is no Monastery de … Continue reading Landscape: Inferior Interior
Ode to RJR –or– The S&P 8
II want to be respectedWhen it comes to smoking.I am not a chimney.I do not burn coal.Tobacco leaf, bronzed,Is strict pleasure.Not a TV set! IICocaine is OKFor gov’t purposes.Otherwise, just missiles and snow.A body.American Shoe.Impotence.This is the age of the stock market —Born and then risen again! IIISomeone moves behind a screen.Not only is this … Continue reading Ode to RJR –or– The S&P 8
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