Monday, January 28, 2008

The Best Poetry Ever Written by Four Sleepy Film-Goers

Sundance Poetry
A beautiful collection of elegantly written poems, Mad Libs style. Crafted by Anna Daines, and brought to life with the timeless adjectives, nouns and plural body parts of Kenny Adams, J. Thompson Dunn, and Austin Coleman. Yours today for only $67.95 (I take cash or check)

Rose Blanket

I burn to myself
on this desperate winter midget.
I remember a bed
when I could grind without potatoes.
I crash in the mirror
and wonder, "alas!
Who is this tooth decay?"

Follies of a Tortured Heart

John Deer cries at me
from across the unashamed room,
only a grand slam breakfast away,
but bananas apart.
Does he shake how I dance?
That he is my only pool stick?
That he cuts my mother?

Summer Calling

The pickle in the trees,
the children on the elephant-
I can nearly hear summer,
the tenacious lady of tatoo, scalping me.
Her bloodthirsty voice
and taunting doorknob,
beckoning me to ski her leg.

The Eyebrows Tell it All

I can see it in his philanges.
He caresses me.
He pokes me.
We fry along,
side by side,
separated only by our own sasquatch.
Yet I always thump
the compulsive hotrod in those philanges,
the aphid of closure and hair.


A day of clowns,
The dawning of a sexier wildebeest.
My pancreas beat wildy
and my tox were opened.
But the pole is dark,
The shank is gone!
Never again will the chicken undulate.

The Films
We went to groan
the aardvarks today.
The sun was soaring,
the children were singing.
The films rolled on in their horny baby.
hunting me of a
brighter roadkill.

A more extensive preview of the anthology upon request.

Trollies, records, and sketchy cartoons,


I want to carry you
and for you to carry me
the way voices are said to carry over water.

Just this morning on the shore,
I could hear two people talking quietly
in a rowboat on the far side of the lake.

They were talking about fishing,
then one changed the subject,
and, I swear, they began talking about you.

Billy Collins

that's all, folks


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