Archive for the ‘Dane Foster’ Category

By Dane Foster


The everyday normal hell
Mr. Potato Head
Screaming in the elevator


There is this beautiful girl
I know
Writing my poems
She hums grapes
Clustering the arbors—
Curls of crushed wine trail
Down her neck
As she hums in this life
The mind’s a madhouse
And you think
Words will cure it.


You feel hopeless sometimes?
Of course you
Do otherwise what would be
The point
All those fingernails pulled out
To no purpose
One month I said to myself
And the maples will be
Heading south
And the next month the homeless
Birds of winter
Be shivering their way away
Like dry leaves until
All that’s left for you to trim
With will be snowstorms’
And the cardinal’s red decibels.


Poetry—just the word’s an anxiety attack
Fresh water wastes
Dried up cattle skulls the dead
Wandering among the safety deposit boxes
Of Dis

Regarding the dead.
One told his girlfriend in line
They didn’t
Need a condom.
Her panties would work.

Jesus, she said.
I don’t want
That stuff on my panties!
Alright, he said. I’ll
Just pull out.

Sure you will you prick.
She said.
Go buy some goddam rubbers
Or use your hand!

Ha! Just when I thought
There was no poetry in this economy
Up pops Mr. Potato Head
With a gem like that!

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