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We Magazine - Volume 17, Number 9
W e M a g a z i n e I s s u e 1 7 , V o l u m e 9
E d i t o r s
Santa Cruz: Stephen Cope, James Garrison
Bay Area: Angela Coon, Eric Curkendall
New York City: Jay Curkendall, Roddy Potter
Albany: Chris Funkhouser, Belle Gironda,
Ben Henry, Katie Yates
Ode to a Dead Tree
Locust clouds o' car alarm angels
drag strips 'n tearin' its petals
flutter stunned brushed aside
into a branch topplin' out a blobber
o' bastard smeared oil across the dirt
almost bloodied in its kackin'
clanks drained into duck chalks
gooed root of a wander
this tree pulled itself dynabrite
ivy red visions o' smells
when i drowsed neath its bows
its memories dug up its colors
'n horn tangles of my banjo hair
boiled all round about it
florescing encrusted
many beautifull parasites themselves
withered by all sorts of jewells
winkin' in codes at extinction
blinkin' back galactic insecticides o'
bizarre liquors enrichin' the barshling
maw twigs that moo death quills
of the leaveless pecked hen jostled
plover thatch mars bowled
from a stratum of eye sand
where still nestle families
o' tiny nocturnal moons
their young emerge uncrinklin'
their buckles,"Good Moanin'."
to the stars at midnight.
Roast this damned book!
Hurl this damned terminal
have mercy on the poor tree!
'n screw yer eyebulbs
into the nests of
yer breath sockettes 'n Memory
stretchin' 'n strewlin' cloths
of the bilge blatherins
'round trees in the ear
that blimp up their crust flowers o' pestery
that wig snarl the light shrubbering
shatterers o' the eyes o' nails
that flesher 'n thresh the arms
'n wolf torn charts of rotten life.
It jettisons boulders from tree hell
from the eternall eye of pools
where plucked him his he floppets
to hurl he him away
as a butterfly through milk caverns
of a smog monster's bone
millofferin' to a slobster o' cuffles
flubbin' the moldy strings
strummin' a moggled bluckle
like grisly batz crunch up at a rubber o' skies.
Sub-nests o' pooch nubs
flopperin' nest fins hunker'd down in
flunk mills o' drabbin' clomps
eat their mind apples off
drunk on sun tan lotion
lasherin' with pullets on the branchin' tiers.
coilin' trains o' konked funks
duh duh the factual tautological
into whirly jellies o' book holes
quacked out in strewlins' o' gardenin' mudz
tonguin' suns of the beast
in glam junglins o' crabs
hockerin' and rackety poety repeeyoubluckuhs o' dumplin' kickery
their hog blob humpettes
weavin' wrecks under the tossled mopules
at the great waddled baggering of the ruptured blue
unfold the fingerling masklettes
who'd once candied and pumped
all the great paintins of the age
on a plum lozenge up Swiss Miss's nose
waterin' coffee with the bees
of her eyes buzzed out at a noise
which is why she's blind
butterfingers of 'er hands
nudge draculas off divin' boards
into a meanworld o' pretzles drivelling
jackled yackette mush bah bahs
muttled 'n twisted up in butts o'
Bach-o-licks janeing welsh
with a jowell eyed gem of ripening
flame fruit overhead
faintlettes endin' flowerin' in burrs
of branchin lexicons snarled wowin'
wang flop of its final fold
snot wrecked
washin' up on the land of God
where money is leaves that flunked.
Eric Curkendall
Please reproduce this document across cyberspace
as you see fit. We look forward to receiving comments,
questions, complaints or poetry from anyone.
Please inform the editors c/o [email protected]
We Press
Postoffice Box 1503
Santa Cruz, California 95061
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