Tuesday, April 25, 2017

day NINETY SIX

Competition is Ever-present in American Schools


They line us up against the padded back wall of the gym
the coaches’ sneakers squeaking on the floor
as they roll the red rubber balls out in front of us
ping ping ping
they bounce and we scramble to get them
so that when the whistle blows
we’ll throw them as hard as possible
at the heads of the children on the other side of the line.

We’ll pick off the weak that hover in the back,
pegging them hard in the spine
when they turn to avoid our dominance.
We’ll slap five.
We’ll hoot and shout.
We’ll keep throwing that ball until we have decimated their team,
cut down their numbers, ostracized them through pain.
Whistles will blow again
and we’ll line up for the water fountain
where it doesn’t stop,
this dominance
where the same ones who hovered in the back
now try to drink water
and the same ones who threw the balls
splash it in their face.

It helps us grow. That’s what we say. Life is hard.
This game is truth.
It’s played all over the world.
Here we call it dodge ball
In England they call it Bombardment.
In Australia, Poison Ball.
In Turkey, Yakan Top which means the ball that hurts,
an apt description.
In Romania, they call it Ducks and Hunters
All across the world, burn ball, hit ball, two camps,
this game keeps appearing.
But I think the German’s got it right.
Because when they line their children up against the wall
and teach them how to win
and how to run
they call it
America.

--Ally Malinenko

Monday, April 24, 2017

day NINETY FIVE

walking to work poem
            --after frank o’hara

it’s the worst
when the sky is cloudless
and the trees are still leafless
and the seasons haven’t decided
between the winter and the spring
i can freeze or sweat
with the best of them
and i have every house on this walk memorized
like children do with bad poetry
especially the ones that had signs in their lawns
supporting the new dipshit president
which says more about me than them
that is to say
what we talk about when we talk about vengeance
and the same lady is smoking at 10th avenue
and the same old man is telling everyone
what a beautiful day his god has given us
and the same dog wants me dead on 17th avenue
biting and gnawing at a heavy metal fence
for my simple audacity of trying to get to work
somewhere along this stretch my ipod will die
and high school girls will act
like they can walk right through me
and the high school boys will smoke pot
while they talk their man-child tough talk
and i still won’t be able figure out what music it is
that i want to listen to
and it has been twenty five years since high school
so i stick with jazz
because i always play jazz
when i’m undecided
except for when i play coltrane
when i play him i feel immortal
only on the next block a tiny electric car tells me
that the future is female
which makes me feel good for a little while
that is to say
this city is full of over eight million people
and i’m so happy in this moment
to truly know
next to none
of
them.        

--John Grochalski                    

Sunday, April 23, 2017

day NINETY FOUR

sunday afternoon in rudy’s bar & grill

christ has risen
but my mind isn’t blown by the idea
and tourists from trumpland
are crowding my streets in easter bonnets and bunny ears
blonde mothers with southern drawls
sending instagram photos of times square
posing for picture with cops
decked out in bullet proof vests
holding machine guns outside the subway station
in the kind of day that could really make you hate america
but here in rudy’s bar & grill the action is sparse
nobody cares that it’s easter or that the mets are on
that it’s ninety degrees in april
and we’re hiding from the heat too soon
there are maybe five of us
holiday throwaways
drinking three dollar pints and two dollar shots
the guy a stool down from my wife
is bragging to the ancient bartender
about his twenty-seven year old girlfriend
like the difference between thirty-four and twenty-seven
is something to be looked at in awe
i tell my wife
if he were fifty years old maybe i’d be impressed
which might be wrong to say
to the only woman in the bar
and i think about how i haven’t been in rudy’s in years
maybe once or twice since the days
when their free hot dogs
counted as a luxurious friday night dinner in the city
and we sat in the bar all night drinking cheap beer
safe from the temp jobs that couldn’t even pay the rent
watching hell’s kitchen get drunker and drunker
men dancing alone to old blues songs
because we didn’t want to go home
to that shithole apartment with the bass upstairs
and the gang members on the next door stoop
i think about how time moves too fast
yet too slow at times
about all of the easters that i wasted on christ as a youth
how i’ve lost my taste for bars and hot dogs
and even twenty seven year old women
how i’ve never had taste for cops and america
how i wish all of the tourists with twangs in times square
would go the hell home
back to the states that hate my city
taking their easter bonnets and bunny ears and the heat
and poor jesus christ on his poor little cross
back down there below the mason/dixon line with them
to rot most pleasantly
in that hot southern heat.                                                           

--John Grochalski                                    

Saturday, April 22, 2017

day NINETY THREE

INAUGURATION DAY

He stands like a weathervane
/thrusting a finger 
at the crowd./Business men wet their pants/with 
joy./Flashes of light./then 
shadow./The hoopla,/the 
sheer, unapologetic 
nerve;/that ostentatious 
Fuck you/smile. While the 
residents on Orchard 
Street/go about their day,/ 
shopping at Food 
Town,/paving roads, taking 
their children/to school, 
living, dying.

--Jason Irwin

WineDrunk SideWalk: Shipwrecked in TrumpLand week THIRTEEN wrap up

Because I post on Saturdays I tend to miss whatever actually happens on Saturdays in these weekly wrap-ups…that probably didn’t matter during the Obama administration because during his era weekends tended to go quietly…unless some asshole decided to shoot up a church or club…but the DOUCHE administration is different…you never know when these inept assholes are going to strike. That is to say…I’ve been feeling a lot like this lately.

Happy Tax Day to everyone…our annual bargain with the devil. How much war did you pay for this year? A lot…I know. Congrats and a thank you to all of those people who participated in the Tax Day protests…it was a futile yet necessary act….DOUCHE ain’t releasing his tax forms folks….that ship has sailed. Still, I had personally been worried that protest/resistance was beginning to die down and folks were becoming complacent…so a special thanks to you Anti-fascist out in Berkeley who took a beating for all of us from the pro-trump brown coats who invaded the city on Saturday…and let’s be straight here…this was a purposeful invasion by DOUCHE supporters and the neo-nazi right. And of course they were helped by the cops who seemed to be a no-show unless it was to arrest people on the left. Twenty Three people were arrested as a matter of fact by the boys in blue as the nazis chanted their battle cry of USA! USA! USA! but what’s that saying? Cops and Klan go hand in hand…right?

Mike Pence was in South Korea talking like a plastic tough guy and helping to stir this dangerous soup of a stand-off we got going on with the North Koreans. Pence declared to the North Korean government that the “era of strategic patience is over,” and pretty much setting the stage for a coffee percolating drip of a Cuban missile style crisis in the Korean peninsula. Mike Pence, ladies and gentleman, a “man” who can’t have dinner alone with a single woman, a man who calls his wife mommy…the only thing that Mike Pence should be talking tough about his his steak and glass of whole milk…bitch please!

But it turns out that the carrier, the Carl Vinson, wasn’t heading toward North Korea anyway…it was going 3, 500 miles in the OTHER FUCKING direction to take part in joint exercises with the Australian navy…or it was going to a DOUCHE owned casino…or it was finding an internet signal somewhere so that everyone on board could buy a pair of Ivanka’s shoes…who really knows these days….the important thing is that the Car Vinson is back on track and heading toward North Korea NOW so that the USA looks like a bunch of brinkmanship world-ending douche bags after all….USA! USA! USA! 

For those of you with Thirty Five dollars burning a hole in your pocket and not a homeless veteran in sight, Dubya’s book of paintings Portraits of Courage: A Commander in Chief’s Tribute to America’sWarriors is out, thus proving beyond a reasonable doubt that war does truly foster art. Sadly the books says nothing about how Dubya and Dick Cheney, with their bullshit war in Iraq, are primarily responsible today for everything from ISIS to DOUCHE to Brexit to overt nationalism worldwide, to Marie Le Pen, and quite possibly the very end of the European Union. This book seems like quite the keepsake for the end of global liberalism….on the flip side I hear President Obama is composing a book of Odes to all of the Drone bombings….stay tuned.

So on Tuesday Jon Ossoff was NOT able to turn his wild ride in Georgia into one big unicorn frappuccinco gallop into the House seat vacated by Tom Price, who is currently working to fuck up the U.S. health care system even more than it already is. Yes, that’s right liberal friends…Mr. Ossoff has to face Karen Handel in a runoff election later this year. In all honesty I didn’t expect the guy to win and I don’t expect him to win the run-off either…but I’m a noted secessionist…I wrote Georgia off YEARS ago.

Returning to his pseudo-populist brand of bullshit DOUCHE signed an order that would reform the visa program for foreign technical workers in favor of companies hiring American ones. Yes, DOUCHE wants to make reforms to the H-1B program that basically hires foreign tech workers to do the jobs in the tech, medical, and scientific fields that Americans are generally too stupid to do. But that’s okay, folks….Betsy DeVos will be in town next week handing out school vouchers so that those jobs will all be filled…in twenty five years or so.
USA! USA! USA!....sorry...it's just so CATCHY I can't WAIT for the 4th of July!


How do you stop a sexual predator? Advertising dollars, folks…advertising dollars. Bill O’Reilly the popular wingnut and mainstay of Fox Reich News is out as allegations of sexual harassment continue to pile up. A total of 5 women came out with charges against O’Reilly but Fox and the Murdoch’s continued to back that dirty old man…until over 50 advertisers pulled out of his still highly rated 8 o’clock slotted fake news of a show, The O'Reilly Factor. It wasn’t that Bill O’Reilly was a sexual predator. It wasn’t that 5 women had to endure treatment such as good ol’ Bill calling them up and harassing them while he jacked off….it’s because Mercedes-Benz and Hyundai took their money elsewhere….if only the American people were paid off by advertising dollars then maybe we wouldn’t have ended up with DOUCHE as our 45th president. USA! USA! USA! of course the
sexual predator fucktward wins no matter WHAT

...I'm sure there's an advisory job waiting for him at the White House


On Thursday evening in Paris on the Champs-Elysees, officer XavierJugele was shot and killed, and two other officers were wounded just days before an election that could quite possible foresee France becoming a publically nationalistic shit-hole like the United States, and foretell the end of the European Union. ISIS has already claimed responsibility. On the United States front the head of our very OWN domestic terrorist organization, DOUCHE, declared that the shooting would have a big effect when French voters go to the polls…..honestly who in the hell knows at this point…that said, it used to be when horrible things like this shooting happened on either the domestic or international front, that you’d want the president of the United States to say something…soothing….not gloat, like this orange-hued, salivating jack-ass does

Are we any closer to a fucking indictment yet?

Well folks…it’s been another long ass week being a citizen of the decreasing free world. I’m going to be off the radar for the next couple of weeks…and when I go deep I got Luddite deep. Jason Baldinger will be handling the weekly wrap-up for weeks FOURTEEN and FIFTEEN and he will be our featured poet for the dark day of day ONE HUNDRED and also day ONE HUNDRED and ONE (they’re all dark days under DOUCHE though). While I have maintained that this is NOT a poetry journal of any type, I do genuinely like promoting the writing of other artists. So because of this for the next two weeks WineDrunk is going to be primarily the work of myself and my wife, the poet Ally Malinenko. I figured since I’m not around to share the blog posts on Facebook and Twitter and elsewhere then it wouldn’t be fair to use the work of writers who have taken the time to craft something and not have it promoted….we’ll get back to that come Sunday May 6th.

That said…stick around today because we have the poet Jason Irwin at 12pm.
and remember to SUBMIT2RESIST at winedrunksidewalk@gmail.com
 


Friday, April 21, 2017

day NINETY TWO

Better Days Be Comin’

Yesterday morning, the cat’s eye was sealed shut.
This morning, it’s your eye I need to coax open.

Last week, a garbage truck went down the alley
that runs along our house, got stuck in the snow,
and took out a chunk of each of the front steps
once he got free. Somehow, we didn’t drip our
faucets enough and the pipes froze overnight
and now the kitchen ceiling is dripping water.

JB tells me to meet him at the bar because he
has some “not so good news” to share with me.
I think I know what’s up, but we wait until
I get a shot of Beam in me before I ask him.

But, as a one of my mother’s good friends once
told her, in slightly different words perhaps,
“You know that your day is not half bad
when you’ve only had to wipe your own ass.”

--Scott Silsbe

Thursday, April 20, 2017

day NINETY ONE

A Message For President Trump #7

I have my own battles to fight right now
So I'll sit here, dumb spectator
Right in the heart of it
South Florida, where I was born
& I am starting to realize
Will always pull me back here

It's as friendly as any state is
If you've got the cash
I'll just sit here & act like I don't see a thing
Fascism rising
I always knew it would come
Wrapped in a blood soaked flag
This was always your land
& we were just renting it

You giving that stupid thumbs up sign
From the comfort of your bullet proof limousine
I see you
I know, I'm just a small common man
You'd probably call me a loser
But that would acknowledge my existence
The existence of such little people
Struggle to struggle more

--Michael Grover

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

day NINETY

Three Pictures by Robert J.W.



Tuesday, April 18, 2017

day EIGHTY NINE

Didn’t Do Shit

I don’t mind
they knocked over
100 Jewish headstones
as much as I mind
being born Jewish
This makes it
my problem
I was lucky until now
but luck isn’t fair
and when mine runs out
and they come for me
I’ll have only myself
to blame.

--Jon Bennett

Monday, April 17, 2017

day EIGHTY EIGHT

Poem for the Waitress at Red Robin
 
This evening its painfully clear
we are a nation of middle managers
purposeless and ineffectual
seated in cubicle booths
staring at cubicle buildings
doctors offices architecture retail
doctors office architecture town homes
decorated with blandly evocative americana
spilled loudly across walls
but it’s my nieces birthday
I’m not about to reason
with a five year old why this place is awful
 
Rachel is our waitress
her name in black marker
droops in the same sad tired way
she carries herself
I don’t know how many tables she has
but the wait staff is jumping
feigning boisterous friendliness
except Rachel, who probably
goes home to kids and has to
try not to be too tired to take care of them
 
The food is worse than I remember
the tv over our head blares
the tv on the table tries to sell us games
the noise in the room throbs
dull crescendos, you can’t hear the person
next to you, maybe we don’t want to hear
the person next to us
 
my nephew has taken the toothpick
from my burger, says it’s a sword
now it’s a gun, he’s fighting
imaginary bad guys
 
I take the toothpick
break it into three pieces
I ask can we pretend
there are no weapons
there are no bad guys
here is the state of Oklahoma
this is the state of Delaware
this is the Washington Monument
imagine a story where your there
and there are no bad guys
 
Instead it’s a pistol
a sword and something else
this narrative is fed to us so young
maybe that’s why so many americans
fight bad guys
that never existed in the first place
 
Two ice cream sundaes have arrived
Rachel is back with three other waitresses
they sing happy birthday to my niece
because they have to
because it isn’t life
                it isn’t work
unless you get to demean yourself for tips
 
-- Jason Baldinger

Sunday, April 16, 2017

day EIGHTY SEVEN

Delving into the Vicarious Mystique

Heartbroken and afraid of the mysterious,
death everywhere, surrounded by germ
warfare, rotting black plague victims flung
by catapults, malaria, yellow fever, small

Pox, napalm, dynamite, plastique, white
phosphorous, bullets, nerve gas, sarin, ricin,
fire, drones, poison, howitzers, mortars,
nuclear missiles, machetes, spears, rifles

Hey Mr. Canary, so you’re the boss, where
ever you go, there you are, you’ve done some
taboo things, the Wovoka is doing a Ghost
Dance in your honor, quietly go home, now.

--Catfish McDaris

Catfish McDaris’ most infamous chapbook is Prying with Jack Micheline and Charles Bukowski. His best readings were in Paris at the Shakespeare and Co. Bookstore and with Jimmy"the ghost of Hendrix"Spencer in NYC on 42nd St. He’s done over 25 chaps in the last 25 years. He’s been in the New York Quarterly, Slipstream, Pearl, Main St. Rag, Café Review, Chiron Review, Zen Tattoo, Wormwood Review, Great Weather For Media, Silver Birch Press, and Graffiti and been nominated for 15 Pushcarts, Best of Net in 2010, 2013, 2014, and 2016 he won the Uprising Award in 1999, and won the Flash Fiction Contest judged by the U.S. Poet Laureate in 2009. He was in the Louisiana Review, George Mason Univ. Press, and New Coin from Rhodes Univ. in South Africa. He’s recently been translated into Spanish, French, Polish, Swedish, Arabic, Bengali, Mandarin, Yoruba, Tagalog, and Esperanto. His 25 years of published material is in the Special Archives Collection at Marquette Univ. in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. He’s listed in Wikipedia. Catfish McDaris won the Thelonius Monk Award in 2015. His ancestors are from the Aniwaya Clan of the Cherokee Nation and related to Wilma Mankiller. He’s working in a wig shop in a high crime area of Milwaukee. Bukowski’s Indian pal Dave Reeve, editor of Zen Tattoo gave Catfish McDaris his name when he spoke of wanting to quit the post office and start a catfish farm. He spent a summer shark fishing in the Sea of Cortez, built adobe houses, tamed wild horses around the Grand Canyon, worked in a zinc smelter in the panhandle of Texas, and painted flag poles in the wind. He ended at the post office in Milwaukee.

Saturday, April 15, 2017

day EIGHTY SIX

The Circus of Death

His milieu is a skit
like Saturday Night Live
playing leader of the free
world with Old Mr. Bones
as his mentor

inciting fear and trembling
around the world
with ill-conceived plans
all of which could end
the world as we know it

Has succeeded in creating
domestic chaos and unifying
the opposition while fracturing
everything else

while moving the hands of
the Doomsday Clock
further forward than at any time
since the fifties with each
rant 140 characters or less

Who knew this was how
you opened the 7th Seal

Who knew that the world
would end not with a bang but
a twitter

--Alan Catlin

WineDrunk SideWalk: Shipwrecked in TrumpLand week TWELVE weekly wrap-up

The Bush/Cheney created monster otherwise known as ISIS continues to rear its ugly head in new and exciting locations. In two coordinated bombings in two separate cities forty-five Egyptian Christians died on Palm Sunday, thus in keeping with ISIS’ goal of creating secreatarian strife wherever they go. But, hey, Bush seems senile and wacky now…and he’s got that book of amateurish paintings that look like the work of ten year olds in the slow kids class….plus he’s no longer labored with the distinction of being the worst president ever know that we have DOUCHE to kick around. ..so no worries here. I swear we’ve been fighting a Holy War since 9/11….if you ask the Palestinians living under apartheid in Israel it’s been going on longer…honestly I just wish you’d all: Christians, Muslims, Jews, Hindus, Buddhists, etc…take your violent horseshit religions and just shove them up your ass….Happy Easter.

Big surprise…but I don’t give  a flying FUCK what Steven K. Bannon reads unless it’s a sign posted on the Oval Office saying “Bannon Go Home.” People make this meth-head looking jerk-off out to be some kind of fascist deep thinking; a voracious reader they call him. But the truth is he’s just another white nationalist prick who got full drinking at the tit of Wall Street who happens to have the ear of the philistine-in-chief. Again, no surprises here. If Bannon danced naked in the White House with a copy of Mein Kompf balanced on his head he’d look no different than any other chief strategist of any other GOP president EVER....and I don't buy this shit about Bannon being isolated, and do you know why? Because if DOUCHE loses Bannon he loses the Neo-Nazi vote that Bannon brings to the table...and to be quite frank I don't think DOUCHE's ego could withstand the drubbing
the White Nationalist media will be giving him.

Syria continues to dominate the news with everything from Rex Tillerson talking tough to his buddy Putin to the DOUCHE administration laying the chemical weapon blame on Russia to Ivanka’s crocodile tears. I guess week TWELVE is where DOUCHE and co. prove how tough they are with the Kremlin to show that there was no collusion in the 2016 election….i gets the feeling something big is gonna drop.

In a press conference on Tuesday Sean Spicer actually said that “someone as despicable as Hitler didn’t even sink to using chemical weapons.” Spicer….you’re getting a Halpert buddy!



 Didn’t use chemical weapons.  DIDN’T USE CHEMICAL WEAPONS…almost makes you want to slap the taste out of Spicer’s mouth until you realized that he’s an ignorant philistine selected to be the mouth piece for an administration of ignorant, racist philistines….still…didn’t use chemical weapons…punk motherfucker.

Hey…anyone got any United Airlines stock?

When DOUCHE and co. weren’t swinging there baby-dicks over in Syria a U.S. aircraft made its way into the Korean peninsula this week all but assuring that DOUCHE plans on expanding his limp, ineffective foreign policy beyond the Middle East. I'm almost certain that this is going to end with
Kim Jong-un disavowing his nuclear ambitions and him and Xi Jinping and DOUCHE and even good
old Putting gathering around in a big circle and singing kumbaya together.

On Wednesday good ol’ Rexy finally met with Putin after almost a day long delay….according to Rexy the talk didn’t go too well. Rexy came away from the meeting stating that “There is a low level of trust between our countries.” Honestly I can’t tell if this has to do with Syria or whether or not this whole hacking/helping DOUCHE win the presidency just didn’t go over as well as they all planned. Guess we’ll either stay tuned or prepare for a nuclear winter…if anyone has an old VHS copy of The DAY AFTER…now might be a good time to see if the VCR is working….for my money I’m going to spend the weekend re-watching Red Dawn….i truly DO love the 1980s!



The DOUCHE administration continues to ensure that we’ll have ISIS and/or ISIS-like organizations around for a long long long TIME.

And Thursday DOUCHE drops the biggest non-nuclear bomb we have into Afghanistan…..a break from the snark for a second. But what in the fucking fuck is it going to take to get this bastard out of the White House? Do we really have to wait for a possible, but at times unlikely, Democratic takeover of the Senate to get rid of this global scourge? Trump/ISIS…I don’t honestly see the fucking difference. You want sick and bloodthirsty? Go on Twitter and read some of the ugly, deplorable feeds from your fellow country men and women.  The United State is no better….we’re the same slugs in the dirt as everyone else.

And to you Trump voters out there….i’ve read a lot about people saying we should understand you and we should try to get along…FUCK YOU PEOPLE.
 

in case you all missed it Jeff Sessions doubled down on DOUCHE’s boarder bullshit in a speech that he gave in Nogales, AZ on Tuesday…you can read the full transcript of the terrifying bullshit right HERE.

with everything else this horrid week has give us, DOUCHE double downed on being a vile, repugnant piece of orange-colored excrement,by finally signed the Domestic Terrorist approved legislation aimed at cutting off federal funding for Planned Parenthood, even though BY FUCKING LAW, federal funding is not used for abortions, which is just ONE of the things Planned Parenthood does for women, who make up over 50.8% of the population in this pigfucker of a country…Between the bombings and this….I’m sure the asshole’s approval ratings will go up. America…you never had it to begin with. FUCK YOUR FLAG.




How even to put this one….Gay men in Chechnya are being held in camps and are being subjected to torture and beatings. Reports have said that at least in 100 men have been rounded up…into camps…in 2017. Of course all around villainous fuckface, Ramzan Kadyrov denies this claim stating that  “You cannot arrest or repress people who just don’t exist in the republic.” I honestly hope this fucker get everything that’s coming to him in this world.
 
I’m fucking DONE with this week….but don’t you be.  Got some heavy hitters on WineDrunk SideWalk this weekend….today at 12PM. we’ve got poet and editor Alan Catlin and tomorrow
at 12pm we’ve got Catfish McDaris.




Friday, April 14, 2017

day EIGHTY FIVE

ivanka’s tears

ivanka cries for daddy
to like…do something
like all those little syrians, right?
so he blows shit up
ivanka cries for a diet pepsi kendall jenner menage
ivanka shed yo’  tears for iraq
ivanka cries because the limo
parks across the street instead of right in front
she cries because french vanilla ain’t really french
ivanka cries for america
and because she misses trump tower
you can catch her crying in her d.c. townhouse
over all those poor palestinian kids
who live under israeli apartheid
ivanka cries because kellyanne is an idiot
and because steve bannon is like soooooooo mean to jared
she cries because like sean spicer is like so dumb
ivanka cries those crocodile tears
her tears are as powerful to daddy as a MOAB bomb
ivanka cries for afghanistan
ivanka cries into her floral printed t-shirt dress
ivanka cries into a alexey leather bag
and two hundred dollar pumps
ivanka cries because she’s an asshole
she cries for the heartland full of pasty peasants
who vote against their own self-interest
those racist cretins that she’d never touch
ivanka cries for
trayvon
michael
eric
tamir
freddie
sandra
philando
…..yeah right
ivanka cries because the bitch’s steak is undercooked
and the white wine smells corked
she cries because daddy couldn’t change the weather
because, like, all those secret service dudes
are like…soooooooo clingy
ivanka cries because it’s a PR move
and don’t you forget it for a minute
because white women will suckle her tears
because white men nod and say, yeah i’d do her
ivanka cries because her old man
treated her like a sex object her whole life
because he said, don’t you think my daughter is hot?
she’s hot, right?
ivanka cries because no matter what
the businesses
the money
the power
the clout
to her old man she’s nothing but a piece of ass
she shed tears because she knows
deep down
that she’s 100% complicit
ivanka cries….because what in the hell else are you gonna do
in this sick nazi circle?
ivanka cries because there’s nowhere left to hide
nowhere left to run
ivanka cries into her mirror
into her cell phone
because she’s live the nightmare we’re all living
her whole live
ivanka cries
and, yeah, maybe her tears are real
…..but deep down
in the belly of my american skin
i don’t really give a single fuck.

--John Grochalski


                                                

Thursday, April 13, 2017

day EIGHTY FOUR


Hail to the Heil

Wow!!!
we elected 
as President
of the U. S. A.
an accused child rapist
a man who mocks the handicapped
a man who denies what he was filmed saying
an admitted sexual predator
a multiple bankrupter
a follower of fascists
a bad businessman

a serial adulterer
a denier of debt
a tax cheater
a xenophobe
a braggart
a racist
a bully
a liar
a loser we lose with
and fool tool of Satan

Need to go out and find me some heroin
so I can turn my life off while he's on
wonder what four years worth costs?

Hail to the Sexual Predator-in-Chief
Hail to the Child Rapist-in-Chief
Hail to the Tax Cheater-in-Chief
Hail to the Racist-in-Chief
Hail to the Hater-in-Chief
Hail to the Liar-in-Chief
Heil President Trump
hell Chump-in-Chief
 
--Steven B. Smith

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

day EIGHTY THREE

a dictator with no soul
 
i can't imagine anything
worse than a dictator with
no soul
 
then, i happen to turn on
the news
 
everyday it's some new lie
from some small handed bag
of shit determined to fuck
everything up and then blame
it on the black guy that was
there before him
 
for some reason people
obsess over poll numbers
and approval ratings
 
none of that matters, these
people are rich
 
it's the beauty of fuck you
money
 
no one is used to that running
the free world though
 
it'll be easy to understand why
the poor carry such a fucking
grudge
 
and remember asshole
 
as you light up a cuban
with a hundred-dollar bill
 
you can't be pulled up by the
bootstraps when you have no
fucking boots
 
--J.J. Campbell

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

day EIGHTY TWO

After Midnight Melancholia XII
 
I lose books in bars.
I leave them like tips,
butterflied by an empty
pint and a bundle of bills.
If a stranger picks it up,
begins to read where I left off,
does that make us brothers?
Lovers?
Do we complete
one another’s thoughts?
 
I never exactly remember
where or when a story ends.
It’s a big empty,
an open mouth
like the Outback,
or the American West in movies,
or when you realize that even stars age.
Besides, you can’t count
on the weight of last lines.
I mean, when was the last time
you ever marveled a frame.
 
Things disappear,
or rather move toward their end,
or rather toward disorder,
but any Buddhist or physicist can  tell you that.
It’s all there, spinning another turn.
 
I’ve lost my driver’s license,
my credit cards,
and every morning my keys.
Once, I lost the heel of my boot.
I teetered to the right all the way home,
and fell into a bush a block
before I reached my door.
I didn’t notice until the next day.
Holding the flat sole in my hand,
I turned it around and around
unable to understand.
I thought the world had just gone crooked.
 
I’ve been losing a long time,
all the time,
every time,
moment to moment,
flaking off like old skin,
tossed like pennies to the street.
I’ve lost my train of thought,
my Saint Christopher,
my last dime,
my wonder,
my word my wonder,
my will to speak
and a thousand thousand lonely
socks to the void of various dryers,
but apparently so has everyone else.
 
I’m not sure when I lost my self,
maybe puberty,
or my first job,
or the last round,
maybe at the freshness of first breath,
but either way the bastard’s still humming
with the moths around the bulb.
 
Sometimes the things I’ve lost come back.
The other night I ordered a shot
and the bartender said,
“I got your Bolaño,”
smiling another dollar into her tip.
I was whiskey enough to give her two,
every inch of her fingers
at the edge of every bill.
She left under the arm
of a guy with both his heels.
Who can blame her?
It’s an easier walk home.
I stayed around drinking,
losing quarters to the jukebox
and hours to the day.
 
I often lose my way,
find myself in unfamiliar neighborhoods,
knocking at strangers’ doors,
hoping someone will answer
and say, “Come inside.
We’ve been waiting.
We’ve been gathering
all the things that you’ve lost.”
 
--Larry Duncan
 
*poem originally appeared in Dance Macabre 106*

Monday, April 10, 2017

day EIGHTY ONE

PostTrump Pantoum - 1:20 AM
 
 
 
Max Roach is crawling my vertebrae
in time to the low gong
of a brass chime
outside in hurricane wind
 
In time to the low gong
palpable      impenetrable
inside like hurricane wind
... an impossible tap on the shoulder
 
Palpable implausible
No one else is awake
but the tap on the shoulder
   I spin & look away
 
I'm the only one up
after this disaster
I spin the dial anyway
but the news doesn't change
 
After a disastrous election
no one un-dies
and the news stays the same
Some wounds huddle in close
 
and no one un-dies
(a toll from a brass gong)
Huddled wounds will not heal
And still Max Roach crawls my spine
 
--Matthew Hupert

Sunday, April 9, 2017

day EIGHTY

forty three

my mother
is on the phone
asking me if i need new shoes
i can send you a gift card for new shoes
i tell her i don’t need the money
i’m just cheap and lazy, mom
she says
but i gotta send you something
like it’s a moral imperative
because she’s the one who helped throw me into this life
i tell her send it to planned parenthood
send it to the goddamned ACLU
my wife
wants to know what i want to do that day
maybe the movies
maybe a museum
maybe jumping off the brooklyn bridge
as if turning forty three is something to look forward to
maybe it is…if you’re hitting sixty
but i don’t know
from a young age
i knew i’d missed out on some essential zest for life
something that kept me separate
from the boisterous, loquacious rush of my peers
all i ever needed was a tv and an empty room
and now i don’t even have that petty youth to squander
i don’t want to sound like an ingrate
i’d just as soon forget my 15, 695 day on the planet and move on
get a little drunk and have that be that
to be honest i don’t have a clue
what i want to do with the day…or the next twenty years
should i even make it that far
it gets sort of depressing
all this hanging around and taking up unnecessary space
filling up the moments
with good books and other small joys
watching societies rise and fall
listening to the same blather by weak-jawed strong men
while sucking down the same food and the same booze
spinning the same mouse wheel
thinking tomorrow could be a triumph
if it’s only somewhat different than today
wondering when the true freedom is going to come
it’s not right to think like that
it’s almost un-american
with all of the disease and suffering
with all of the people dying in endless wars
a few DNA strands gone another way
and i could be dead in a ditch in mosul
or a sex slave to the boko haram
and what is true freedom?
today i feel like a selfish american
a petulant yankee child who wants to curl into a ball on the floor
and kick and kick and kick at the wall
until he gets what he wants
having no clue what he wants
i didn’t build this world, i want to shout
but i can feel my complicity in its malaise
with every breath
with every sour ride home from work on the evening bus
maybe one day it’ll feel different
like when i’m sixty years old
sitting on the couch with a good stiff drink
looking back on life like i’d fought a good battle
or thinking i hope i don’t have to keep doing this at eighty
reading a poem by some forty three year old asshole
who thinks his whole fragile world is at low ebb
all because he’s having
a shit morning
turning into a pissy day
...provided we don't destroy the world first

--John Grochalski