|
UNDERGROUND VOICES: POETRY - 04/2012
|
|
CATFISH MCDARIS Got a reject letter from Burning Woodchuck Review Dear Poet, Sorry, but my Russian Wolfhound, Dostoyevsky ate & defecated all the submissions for Issue #3 the smell & smear almost killed me. Was your poem about catching your brother cornholing his buddy while watching Andy Griffith? Or was it the one about Sandpaper Sally the chick with scabs in her vagina? Or the nuns with dildo & splinters? Please resubmit. Having never heard of any of this, I pour a glass half full of icy vodka squeeze a lime in & drain it The cinnamon moon is a slice less than full, shining through the web in the window, where two buzzing flies struggle & a centipede slowly joins them. Love Grows Even In Winter Happiness can be a shadow following you or a smile from a snaggletooth kid A dog licking ice cream from your hand, a twenty dollar bill on the sidewalk, a wedge of geese honking overhead It can be a memory of where you first met love or you looking for the golden thread to unravel, mostly a tangle is what remains Life can be a pile of leaves on a windy day or tulips in the snow, try & grow love in your garden & you can’t go wrong. Flying In The Talons Time is a measurement, a withered harvest of man’s wisdom, a dream within a nightmare It’s said you never fully appreciate life until you’ve faced death Fear is a tired joke, ducks on an icy pond, termites, a ripe banana, four artichokes, a burnt match, an empty bottle A green lizard in the talons of a Mexican eagle, a bulldog with its teeth buried deep in your ass. Catfish McDaris has been active in the small press world for 20 years. After 3 years G.I. Joe, he hopped freights & hitchhiked across the U.S. & Mexico. He built adobe houses, tamed wild horses, made cattle troughs, worked in a zinc smelter, & painted flag poles. He lived in a cave & wintered in a Chevy in Denver. He ended at the post office in Milwaukee. A catfish farm is next, he hopes. |
|
© 2004-2012 Underground Voices |
|
|