tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894607561028028732024-02-20T06:43:02.250-08:00The Second HumpVolume IIMay 2011 - April 2012The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.comBlogger78125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-32214825164167371332012-04-30T15:01:00.000-07:002012-04-30T15:01:03.131-07:00Coyote for SJ Tuckerby Jessica Otto<br />
<br />
the words travel across the page in a folk song your voice bleeds sunset following the line down a drop of ink on your tongue a body stumbles against the rumble strip a casualty of wandering and diesel fumes skinned haunches and shattered nose point towards the ragweed the beginning of the line dresses itself in a drop of ink a hemorrhage here is the horizon bleeding down generations of sunrises and sunsets light comes up light goes down when you lick the paper the road allocates the flesh of the coyote absorbs blood bone and skin stretched to a fine film between the rumble strip and the verge the road stretches out sniffs with a dead thing’s nose gulps rainwater through broken teethThe Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-40703995364630825192012-04-30T14:59:00.002-07:002012-04-30T14:59:48.710-07:00Dimly Lit Roomby Rebecca Miller<br />
<br />
Darkness fell -so did my slip, dress and heels.<br />
He switches off the lights, I turn them on.<br />
Absinthe scorches my lips, his thighs.<br />
We tango hip to hip, my feet never touch the floor.<br />
He trademarks my neck with his teeth.<br />
Green nymphs parade across his shoulders as we dance.<br />
Fast, slow, matching, pacing.<br />
His smirk, a result of my rowdy lament.<br />
Multiplication is my specialty.<br />
Bound, by his coarse hands and palatable cologne.<br />
I am useless.<br />
He divulges my fabrications like a theatre production.<br />
Ribbon working like chains, and it's his turn to bat.<br />
I tease, he begs, I relish.<br />
Edging too close, I bring him down.<br />
Finishing line crossed,<br />
He leaves me wanting.<br />
A migraine replaces ecstasy's face.The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-71404216685321049482012-04-30T14:59:00.001-07:002012-04-30T14:59:27.373-07:00Icarus<div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">by Marc Carver</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I told her</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">that nothing could hurt me.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I had drunk enough</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">to kill most men</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">been in lots of tight scrapes.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">My luck had run out a few times</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">but in the end</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">it had all worked out okay.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Sometimes you really can feel immortal</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and on other days</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">well</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">you sail just that little too close to the sun.</span></div>The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-11798772167189580612012-04-30T14:59:00.000-07:002012-04-30T14:59:12.750-07:00Knock. Knock.by Peter Franklin<br />
<br />
To you I might be<br />
nothing – discarded, outcast refuse<br />
washed up on your pristine beach.<br />
I am mysterious, unknown, and am unable<br />
to communicate how terribly hungry –<br />
hay hambre – yo lo tengo - I am,<br />
or how fearful I am – hay miedo – that I<br />
have nowhere to go, and no idea<br />
whether my family made it out or not.<br />
Alone.<br />
Solo.<br />
Nadie.<br />
“Next,” you sneer. “Cockroach.”<br />
Cucaracha? I don’t think so…in my country<br />
I was a successful businessman –<br />
a lawyer – abogado – but like everyone you<br />
see here, stretched out before you,<br />
I chose to leave…was forced to leave…chase a<br />
dream to live without fear. Without persecution.<br />
Either that or die, over and over again.<br />
We are now all the same, but I am no cockroach.<br />
If you just let me in – I am healthy, you see –<br />
strong teeth, clear eyes…my beautiful hazel eyes…<br />
I will make you proud, and will give<br />
you no problems – you won’t even know I am here.<br />
Invisible –<br />
a shadow – la sombra.<br />
Perhaps you could look at my form one more time,<br />
and maybe while you are looking over there<br />
At that colicky baby – el nino - crying and carrying on<br />
(does the echo in this hall bother you, too?)<br />
perhaps I could slip through this…how do you say…<br />
torno de entrada – and find my way out.<br />
I have this uncle, you see, and surely<br />
I can find him and he will take me in.<br />
I am more than you think I am.The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-5010435103834166942012-04-30T14:58:00.001-07:002012-04-30T14:58:59.470-07:00Refusing Free Willby A.J. Huffman<br />
<br />
I am the rose<br />
trapped<br />
inside your empty bottle.<br />
I will not grow.<br />
I cannot die.<br />
I have not air enough<br />
to be anything<br />
but plastic.<br />
You toss me a dollar.<br />
And place your wish.<br />
As blood beads --<br />
red --<br />
on my thorns.<br />
It hurts less<br />
than I thought it should.<br />
Which leads me<br />
to believe.<br />
It is yours.The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-22590121719287107512012-04-30T14:58:00.000-07:002012-04-30T14:58:48.460-07:00Sunday Morningby Will Monigold<br />
<br />
Again.<br />
I tried to end<br />
The world last night.<br />
I think I’ve run far enough.<br />
The thing about rain<br />
Is that it makes<br />
Everything look clean.<br />
I suppose it’s the way she<br />
Holds her mouth<br />
When she kisses me.<br />
I was born to be a fool<br />
I had to have been<br />
Otherwise my tools<br />
Would fit<br />
I could fix things.<br />
I can still smell her<br />
Still feel her.<br />
I wish I was still<br />
Pressed against<br />
Her breasts.The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-86184407397810549982012-03-31T12:30:00.001-07:002012-03-31T12:30:32.744-07:00Africa<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">by A.V. Koshy</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">You were the first born, Africa</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">among the continents</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">God created you, as the best Woman Mother of the lot</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Adam and Eve and the garden of paradise,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">the tree of life and the tree of knowledge</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">of good and evil</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and all the birds and animals</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">the dinosaurs and behemoth and the unicorn</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and the dragon and the wild ox were all found first in you</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">gold and bdellium and onyx and cedar</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and diamonds and precious ore</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Your people, tall and ebon and beautiful</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">the fathers and mothers of the whole human race</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Africa my Love, no one knows of your contours</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">how daily I wish for your white sand interiors</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and golden green curves</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and birds of brilliant plumage</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and forests and rivers and miles and miles of deserts</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">your children spread to Asia and </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">South America</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Australia New Zealand</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">North America and Europe</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The future may belong to the children</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">but no one has breasts like you</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">And when you stand up, the whole world will tremble</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">At your stride</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">for yours is the future</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">You the first born daughter of Mother</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Earth</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">for there is none like you</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and your people</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">will use the countless riches of your body</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">wisely</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and well</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">for the healing of the nations</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Africa</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I salute you</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and look forward to that day</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">When the mighty shall tremble and lay their riches before you</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">for protection and help</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and be found to be very small</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">O Africa</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">always misunderstood</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">but not by the ones who have been there</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">in you and seen your promise galore</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">You are old as the earth</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and young as a baby</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and in times to come</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">will astound the wise-men</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">who always called you a second class citizen</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">of the cosmos</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">but they do not know</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">the people of Africa</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and the stars are both gods</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and wait for the shaking to rise up and dance</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and finally be given by the Same God who made them,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">their just dues</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and then they shall rule</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and of their kingdom and dominion shall there be no end</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">for all their slavery and misrepresentation and mental suffering leads to eternity's and infinity's reign.</span></div>The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-15485736164844430212012-03-31T12:30:00.000-07:002012-03-31T12:30:16.118-07:00DOLORESby Bryan Murphy<br />
<br />
He knows she is there. <br />
<br />
The air is heavy with the aroma of coastal flowers and the Pacific humidity he associates with Dolores. The guitar awakes to Hamish's touch as he tunes it. The audience looks bigger than those he is used to. <br />
<br />
Hamish felt very lucky when the leader told the band they would be playing the Jazz Festival at Zuntema, just along the coast from Playa Chisme, where he had met Dolores. He was sure she would come, for the rare treat of live jazz, if not for him. She had captivated Hamish by her easy sociability, by her height, which matched his, by her being at home in her own skin even amongst the lost souls of Playa Chisme. <br />
<br />
Hamish, though, failed to prise Dolores away from the surfer. Four long months have passed since then: plenty of time for Dolores to have grown out of him, or tired of him.<br />
<br />
The act before the Oaxaca Jazz Ensemble is playing. Its music barely creeps into Hamish’s awareness. He thinks of the music the Ensemble is to play, and suffuses it into his mind with the essence and the allure of Dolores. <br />
<br />
Now it is they who are playing. Hamish produces his allotted notes. He would love to follow the tenor sax beside him into the heights and beyond them, but his instructions are to stick to the score and not try to show off his technical skills. Those skills had brought him invitations first to jam with the Ensemble and then to join them, an honour for a musician barely out of his teens that recognised his Oaxaqueno status despite frozen-north birth and features. Hamish is happy to do what they tell him.<br />
<br />
At the end of their second number, he catches sight of Dolores. Has she changed? Her hair has bleached to a lighter brown. She is as self-composed as ever, at ease in town clothes. She slips out of his vision amongst the families replenishing plates and glasses.<br />
<br />
Into their third number; his playing takes on an urgency. He is playing for Dolores, of course, calling to her, urging her into his orbit. By the fourth number, he is not showcasing his technique, he is his technique. Dolores is forgotten. The drummer starts to play off him, echoing Hamish’s chords in new riffs. Expectant looks are exchanged amongst the band, though Hamish is oblivious to them. They urge each other on with flickers of improvisation. The tenor sax dives deeper into the music and leads it in a new direction. Hamish follows him and then is following no-one, rearranging the tropes of the genre to outline new possibilities and then explore them. This is no longer technique but raw feeling. <br />
<br />
The music stops rather than ends. Applause takes its place. The band stare at each other, exhausted, elated, astonished.<br />
<br />
Hamish is back in his own head. He remembers Dolores. Now is the time to find her. He sets his instrument down at the edge of the stage and takes the steps that lead off it. High-fives and back-slaps mark his passage through the crowd. He has never experienced a reception like it. But where is Dolores?<br />
<br />
The next band is tuning up when he spots her. She is not alone. Hamish recognises four of the group from the Playa Chisme summer. The surfer is not amongst them. Tomas waves him over. Greetings are effusive, congratulations sincere. But it is an age before he can get Dolores to one side, out of earshot of the others. He asks her to come to Playa Chisme with him, alone, now. She can’t. He insists. She won’t. He cannot believe her reluctance. He entreats her. <br />
<br />
“Look, Hamish, you’re a nice guy but you’re just not my type.” <br />
<br />
Hamish’s world stops turning. His blood has frozen in his veins. His liver has turned to lead. His head hurts.<br />
<br />
The figure of Julio comes into Hamish’s peripheral vision. Now he is going to get hell for his disobedience. Julio nods at Dolores. <br />
<br />
“Hamish,” he says, “we have to talk”. <br />
<br />
But the band leader is beaming. <br />
<br />
“Let’s get some beer and fix you some solo time for the gig in Puerto Desaparecido.”<br />
<br />
Hamish is back in a turning world. He is starting to feel good.The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-35459471478873240202012-03-31T12:29:00.000-07:002012-03-31T12:29:09.957-07:00I NO LONGER KNOW THE QUESTIONby Michael H. Brownstein<br />
<br />
One by one the cliff erodes,<br />
ice bores deeper,<br />
words stop making sense:<br />
abyss, crucify, alliteration—<br />
<br />
passion comes in through fog.<br />
Who claims we must remember? <br />
Skin always knows pain.<br />
fingertips happiness, feet satisfaction.The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-52296680282170288842012-03-31T12:28:00.001-07:002012-03-31T12:28:32.294-07:00payback burnsby Linda M. Crate<br />
<br />
I stained you in pomegranate, let<br />
my bitterness sink into your bones —<br />
then I fled from you into the shadows;<br />
you thought when you broke me I’d lay there<br />
and wilt like my sisters: the lilies, but<br />
I allowed you to suck out all of my rage so <br />
freedom would ring like wedding bells, and<br />
so I could finally breathe again;<br />
my spirit was grateful to be void of your<br />
hate which you projected on me —<br />
it was so loud that my ears bled from<br />
the dulcet tones; you dripped your lies<br />
into my tea, so I used them to sour your<br />
apples and you never thought twice about it;<br />
you never thought that I wouldn’t break<br />
like the limbs of a tree, you greatly underestimated<br />
me when you told your honeyed lies here.The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-10219997374199240062012-03-31T12:28:00.000-07:002012-03-31T12:28:19.399-07:00Prague and Tongueby Karina van Berkum<br />
<br />
Like Tongue, the word <br />
Prague is spelled<br />
for its swollen center<br />
<br />
and placement,<br />
which snakes before<br />
it stalls.<br />
<br />
This winter I hid inside <br />
both for a while<br />
while the leadfaced <br />
<br />
neighbors worked fast <br />
on their own<br />
obsessions. Alone, <br />
<br />
I learned to be in love <br />
with neither town<br />
nor appendage<br />
<br />
whose shining, wasted <br />
forms ache against <br />
one another:<br />
<br />
Prague from Tongue <br />
in a moment of silent <br />
lunacy, say, <br />
<br />
and Tongue sitting wet<br />
in a gray station,<br />
dying to go.The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-62171447642745900952012-03-31T12:27:00.000-07:002012-03-31T12:27:16.991-07:00Recipeby Melina Papadopoulos<br />
<br />
Sometimes, I want to ask you<br />
if my name still tastes like something.<br />
it's taken every last drop<br />
of summer's sunlight stamina<br />
for me to finally feel like a picnic.<br />
I've just begun to dot my I's<br />
with watermelon seeds.<br />
I could be an ant farm if my blood cells<br />
give out and decide that oxygen is too heavy<br />
to carry to another breath I'll take for granted. <br />
I don't have a Mount Zion in me.<br />
I can't make internal pilgrimages worth it.<br />
perhaps one day, my brain<br />
will decide that it was trivial to carry<br />
a name outside of childhood where you could<br />
have called me that kid or something<br />
and I would have been just as lost in my own skin,<br />
even if someone replaced my heart with a compass<br />
and my feet with a map that knows the way<br />
without my reading so deeply into its travel lines.<br />
<br />
So refresh my memory.<br />
Put a familiar taste on my tongue,<br />
a foreign one even.<br />
Is my name still something<br />
that you don't even chew before swallowing?<br />
Don't worry, I don't want to melt in your mouth.<br />
I am afraid of melting because<br />
it could be the only death that doesn't come equipped<br />
with an afterlife. <br />
<br />
Is it too much of a hassle to still call me sweet?<br />
<br />
I that know cavities are a burden.<br />
I know that dental drills scold before forgiving.<br />
Eventually, you hear your mother's voice<br />
in that spinning snarl. Eventually,<br />
you remember that your mouth is wide open<br />
and that you're wide awake.<br />
you begin<br />
to think of names that you can't assign to nouns,<br />
just adjectives and so I'll just come right out<br />
and say it,<br />
<br />
is my name still beautiful?<br />
Could it be the real name<br />
of a real wildflower?<br />
If not, that's okay, I want<br />
to be a scientific name.<br />
I want to flavor soup<br />
in Latin and, if I must,<br />
with my death-cap tendencies,<br />
I want to put out a dinner party<br />
Linnaeus style.<br />
<br />
But sometimes, I want to do more<br />
than ask you. I want to tell you<br />
to close your eyes and open your mouth,<br />
and I want to place this name of mine<br />
on the taste bud with the best memory<br />
I think you'd forget me<br />
if I let you keep your eyes open.The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-9963338984076167242012-03-31T12:26:00.001-07:002012-03-31T12:26:28.527-07:00Sweet Loveby Nazra Emamdee<br />
<br />
What will you try to save me from<br />
If I screech vibrating silence<br />
And pierce through aching muscles amidst the night?<br />
Can you put those dark green straws<br />
Through which run revenge and pleasure,<br />
With kisses and sweat back to meditation?<br />
Will you put me down when I fly, screwing,<br />
With the devil’s wings towards forgetful karma?<br />
If I say that I love every piece of you,<br />
Will you love my dead nail <br />
Under which lies a pretty history of blood crystals?<br />
Will you love it through a coated sham or naked<br />
If it promises to uproot itself off my skin<br />
And neglect me?<br />
What will you love me for<br />
If tears of an unknown manufacturer,<br />
Like final products are spilled on your sweet lullaby?<br />
Will you force me to sleep amidst quenching dreams<br />
Which squeeze the life out of my garden?<br />
If I grow cancer in my heart,<br />
Will you love the living me or the leaving me?<br />
If I hammer twice my ring finger,<br />
Will you put that ring through<br />
And feed me with strawberries<br />
Or saw the flesh and bones off me?The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-31627092331700393902012-03-31T12:26:00.000-07:002012-03-31T12:26:11.448-07:00The Universeby Bobbie Troy<br />
<br />
the universe<br />
an intangible thing<br />
that seems to grow larger<br />
as i become smaller<br />
and less confident<br />
and so confused<br />
about the relationship<br />
of macrocosm to microcosm<br />
and microcosm to macrocosm<br />
that the only decision<br />
i can make<br />
is what to have for dinnerThe Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-67861572313774957432012-03-03T12:18:00.004-08:002012-03-03T12:18:47.167-08:00Button Upby Laura Close<br />
<br />
A year from now, maybe I will<br />
button up. I will take a vow of silence<br />
<br />
before the weather turns bitter. <br />
I will ask the vicar. <br />
<br />
October is sometimes cold enough<br />
to ask for a row of buttons or for<br />
<br />
old overcoats to recreate recycled<br />
notions from old coats’ buttons;<br />
<br />
as for the fine fabric itself I cannot<br />
recycle it; I don’t know how; I seek out <br />
<br />
electric sheep and a row of quiet dreams.The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-24518350788272306542012-03-03T12:18:00.003-08:002012-07-01T06:51:25.941-07:00Centerfold<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">by Alan S. Kleiman </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">But I’m usually more shy<br />
I don’t centerfold regularly<br />
I don’t centerfold happily<br />
I centerfolded only a time or two my whole life<br />
And I wasn’t thrilled centerfolding at all.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Shyness doesn’t mean you are shy<br />
it doesn’t mean you want to die<br />
or hide from each face<br />
like a butterfly.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">It doesn’t mean you are timid<br />
looking<br />
or speak with a quiet sound<br />
or laugh only when laughed at<br />
or sing when the voice is laryngitis hoarse<br />
when even a cry won’t sound.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Shy’s when inside you’re scared<br />
and say truth to yourself<br />
never<br />
When you must be shy<br />
because pain bars the doors.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Even a fire in the stables<br />
won’t let the horse escape.<br />
Burn before leaving<br />
Put water in a dish left outside the stall<br />
and think it will hold back the flames.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Only water will lash the storms<br />
of rage, the visions of self<br />
crashing the rocky shore<br />
Hard.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The dish won’t burn,<br />
like the burning bush, truth<br />
won’t escape. Flames</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">won’t lick the dew off grass or upper lip.<br />
Stand tall<br />
Remember<br />
Duty has no meaning in a colored light<br />
Shifting sands mean everything.</span></div>The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-19834815656518759172012-03-03T12:18:00.002-08:002012-03-03T12:18:31.651-08:00Freedomby Kim Wilson<br />
<br />
I wanted to be left feeling invisible because to remember would be unfeeling; compassionately socializing with the enemy shouldn't deliberately weigh on my feelings. Why would my sanity truly depend on your survival; that can't be. Why can't the feelings of being down have its window shut; spilling to the ground. The explanation of when I rage; has been shut up so long that I've forgotten the rules and pleasures to openness; if there's really still a place for me. The only thing that's changed is that the applause is only quieter. The bright lights of 'insane'; frightening nights is what my soul knows to be forgotten amongst the sane. I try not to weep or willow but out-casted is, as out-casted does. Don't cry for me because I hide part the way; let's get it straight. My forgetting my whole self because I have been born again and again and again and...; I ain't mad, I go on. How do you unscramble a rattled mind that's struggling to be born again with the hope I have left; I've lived in the flesh, now die in the Word. God has plans for me, as soon as I figure at what they are.The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-49048138787274376642012-03-03T12:18:00.001-08:002012-03-03T12:18:22.679-08:00Paper cutsby Susan S. Keiser<br />
<br />
A sharp eye hones<br />
and paints the outlines<br />
of a world invisible to ours,<br />
cutting at the certainty<br />
of paranoid dimension,<br />
stark gingerbread<br />
scissor-made and snipped <br />
from adjunct dreams.<br />
<br />
Idle generations carved <br />
of iterative black and white<br />
drift from fingertips<br />
into a filmy paper land,<br />
people spilling into cities<br />
and the countryside;<br />
men and women, hopes <br />
sliced from dreamlands or<br />
pale, illucid memory, <br />
drifting on a tissue breeze<br />
toward genesis, imperceptible<br />
in its minute savageries,<br />
controversy biting at <br />
a deft and bleeding hand.The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-59143413591056422282012-03-03T12:18:00.000-08:002012-03-03T12:18:12.030-08:00Reptilian Mindby Wayne Lee<br />
<br />
In my reptilian mind, I still crawl <br />
on my underbelly<br />
through the primordial ooze<br />
inexorably toward evolution.<br />
<br />
I am not yet ready to stand, to sire <br />
live young, to bleed, to oppose <br />
forefinger and thumb.<br />
<br />
Everything is either food<br />
or not food. <br />
<br />
I miss my tail.The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-83241533774393737062012-03-03T12:17:00.000-08:002012-03-03T12:17:59.390-08:00This Shirt Belonged to My Fatherby James Babbs<br />
<br />
this shirt belonged to<br />
my father<br />
every time I wear it<br />
I think of him<br />
pouch of Red Man<br />
chewing tobacco<br />
tucked inside his<br />
left front pocket and<br />
I remember<br />
the way it burned<br />
my tongue when<br />
he let me try some<br />
how I immediately<br />
spat it out<br />
while he sat back<br />
and laughed<br />
watching him<br />
working on<br />
something in the garage<br />
his sleeves rolled up as<br />
he reaches for<br />
the ball-peen hammer<br />
pounding the piece of<br />
metal he has<br />
clamped in the vise<br />
the sound of it<br />
still<br />
ringing in my earsThe Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-60553725456450888332012-01-31T15:19:00.002-08:002012-01-31T15:19:21.503-08:00“How do I get to Elm?”by Joseph Hargraves<br />
<br />
A thin, black-haired, blue-eyed<br />
girl stopped me on<br />
High and Main Streets.<br />
She asked me “How<br />
Do I get to Elm?” Because I say<br />
whatever pops into my mind <br />
I told her I once stabbed<br />
a guy on Elm because he <br />
called me a “faggot.”<br />
I explained how easily<br />
the knife entered<br />
up under his rib-cage.<br />
She asked: “How<br />
do I get to Elm?<br />
I told her I would<br />
exchange good directions<br />
for her phone number.<br />
She wrote “Becky: 327-9553.”<br />
When I got home<br />
I dialed knowing<br />
she gave me the number<br />
to Luigi’s Pizza Parlor.<br />
The phone rang and<br />
a sweet voice said:<br />
“Hi Joe, this is Becky<br />
I was hoping you’d call.”<br />
<br />
Always remember:<br />
People are unpredictable.The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-64759084615487234452012-01-31T15:19:00.001-08:002012-01-31T15:19:13.222-08:00Deadwoodby Summer Qabazard <br />
<br />
I’m scared of this dark<br />
in blood cells<br />
in space<br />
in skulls<br />
felt it flutter<br />
nightly<br />
<br />
I’ve seen the base of it<br />
its taproot<br />
wire bone<br />
stone gray<br />
<br />
trunk grows<br />
around grave<br />
<br />
I grow a foot<br />
imprint<br />
hold it to the ground<br />
I’ve known it struggle<br />
pathetic wing-pinned<br />
flailing, flapping<br />
<br />
smoke snakes in breaths<br />
turning tones of ash<br />
of such force, a storm<br />
<br />
even in darkness<br />
want shadows<br />
shadows<br />
<br />
I have to<br />
scream<br />
now.The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-79680874520818263682012-01-31T15:19:00.000-08:002012-01-31T15:19:04.361-08:00Gum Chewing Not Allowedby Annmarie Lockhart<br />
<br />
<i>I don't like gum chewing</i>you said<br />
<i>Yeah, well I don't like <br />
being overlooked</i>I replied<br />
<br />
We pondered these<br />
limitations, wondered<br />
what they meant<br />
<br />
<i>I will make you feel safe</i>you said<br />
<i>Yes, and I will make <br />
you feel strong</i>I replied<br />
<br />
And so negotiations began<br />
and preliminary terms<br />
were struck<br />
<br />
I added<br />
a monitoring clause<br />
that wouldn't pass review<br />
<br />
and the unseasonable storm<br />
wound down, sunshine through snow<br />
flakes, light, heat, bed, bear<br />
<br />
and I wondered why any woman<br />
would ever consent to a man<br />
who didn't love her hairThe Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-6451188969822909642012-01-31T15:18:00.002-08:002012-01-31T15:18:55.501-08:00The Cart Pusher at Wal-MartFor my brother<br />
by Zach Fishel<br />
<br />
Struggling with<br />
frozen gates and people who drive<br />
while texting,<br />
he pushes on.<br />
Making due in the sleet,<br />
hail,<br />
downpours of misery in the small<br />
town that only<br />
equals dead end opportunities<br />
except he<br />
doesn’t get the benefits of<br />
the Postal Service.<br />
He gives a damn,<br />
making sure people aren’t<br />
trashing the lot<br />
with their fast food wrappers<br />
and commodities,<br />
he doesn’t know hot water<br />
tanks or gas bills<br />
that exceed warmth.<br />
He gives a damn,<br />
like a priest celibately struggling<br />
through a whorehouse.<br />
One day when<br />
he leaves that town,<br />
he will take his work ethic<br />
with him,<br />
and nobody can take that<br />
away as the carts<br />
pile up<br />
in parking spots like corners<br />
of never<br />
cleaned houses.The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1489460756102802873.post-44138919805915956342012-01-31T15:18:00.001-08:002012-01-31T15:18:36.607-08:00The Dissatisfied Mirrorby Glenn Cooper<br />
<br />
A mirror grew dissatisfied with its human. <br />
Another mirror said, a man cannot help his own reflection. <br />
That may be so, the dissatisfied mirror said, but nor can I help the desire for something more. <br />
If you break your human you will endure seven years bad luck. <br />
Who said anything about breaking him? <br />
It’s in your tone. <br />
I think the silent treatment should more than suffice …The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0