Yeah! Reminds me of the time I read a certain James Dickey poem and then a
certain Frank o"hara poem and became a pack of L&M filters.
*If Found, Return to Frank O'Hara*
Help! I am the pack of L&M filters
The Red and White Box that fell
From the left pocket of the stewardess who fell
Down and down – yes, she really took of her clothes!
Fell right after her pillbox hat came off falling into
1964 it was into a field outside of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
I was stuck in a James Dickey poem but
12:20 in New York a Friday
Three days after Bastille day, yes
It is 1959 and Frank went to get a shoeshine
And he bought a pack of L&Ms. Me!
The Day Lady Died.
But I never got in the poem.
He too shocked to remember.
Take and take Frank.
Take and take.
But that is anyway where I belong.
But how did I get here in a poem making
Fun of a Steven Dunn poem where he comes
Home to his little dogs: Buster! (Actually)
And Sundown and never notices me
Because I am underneath his wife's underwear
In a drawer upstairs next to the pine sachet
From Indiantown Gap that was her mother's 1932...
Some kind of fair... and his wife's a secret smoker!
And his children will grow up to get degrees in Communications
He doesn't know any of this
But so what? What's it to me?
And why am I here anyway for
So far from home?
I'm not joking here.
Try this: I'm as real as
Everything you love.
On 11/12/07, Frederick Pollack <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: "TheOldMole" <[log in to unmask]>
> To: <[log in to unmask]>
> Sent: Monday, November 12, 2007 10:57 AM
> Subject: Re: "Stutter"
>
>
> Nice weird story. I like it.
>
>
>
> Thanks. Like the judge, I foresee a trend.
>
--
Joseph Green
The Pleasant Reviewer
Headmaster, St. John Boscoe Laboratory School
Switchboard Captain, Hollywood Colonial Hotel
All complaints shall be directed to:
Camelopard Breathwaite
The Fallows, 200 Fifth Avenue, Fredonia City
"That's Double Dependability"
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