Literary as hell.
Languishing in a state of dire straits,
he contemplates the rate of his life,
the ways of his strife,
the days and the nights.
An abecedarian learning to speak again
in his most recent reincarnation,
walking fine lines between monstrosity
and virtuousness.
The streets are clogged
with heat and horns
the crash of sliding metal gates
sidewalk steams where it’s been hosed
in the paper
I search for mention of people I used to know
the sun bakes my face
He was pretty hung over.
So bad that he was burping into a glass of water. He hadn’t noticed the waitress right away. She must have been new. It was wintertime. The morning after the Smart-TV Christmas Party.
Booger had secured the location for the station and he put together a very bad Christmas reel. The bureau chief cornered Booger at one point and asked what happened with the reel… why was it so lame? Booger was mortified and the only thing to do at that point was drink heavily. He ordered a shot of whiskey with a beer chaser and kept hitting the same number until the embarrassment gave way to stupor. He got home, smoked a bone, whacked off and went to sleep. When he woke up in the morning his mouth was full of cotton and his stomach was doing somersaults. He threw on a coat and went across the street to “My Most Terrific Dessert Company.” It was expensive but he could sit there order a soda and a croissant and feel a little better. The waitress moved across the floor like a ballerina. She was friendly too.
Very friendly, Booger thought. Continue reading
All the cock-sucking,
all the cunt-lapping,
all the butt-fucking
in the world
can’t forge a bond
that lasts beyond
the bounds of flesh and boredom;
time, a river with
Charon waiting
patient as Job,
shuttling busy
as a bee
from bank to bank
carries us all.
Artist’s Statement: My name is Darrell Urban Black, I was born in Brooklyn New York, My artistic pursuit started at an early age around five years and as a teen living in New York, Long Island I produced some 500 drawings. receiving much encouragement and support from my mother, who worked in a mental hospital. She bought me paper, ink and pens. In 1980 I joined the National Guard in New York only to transfer in 1988 with the Regular Army continuing my artistic pursuits and In April 2001, I was nominated by the German government ‘for this year’s prize for promising young artists’. The idea came from Dr. John Provan of the Zeppelin Museum in Frankfurt. For the exhibition entitled ‘The Zeppelin in Art, Design, and Advertisement’, held between May 11 and July 30, 2000, for an artwork titled ‘The Invasion’. I’ve had many local, national and international group art exhibitions and have artwork permanently displayed in a number of art galleries, museums and other institutions in America and Germany.
days pass into weeks
and now even the flowers
are dead, curled brown in their vase like squirrel paws
little hands. I call
my husband
tell him to take
Unyielding
This morning, a hearse refused to
let me in—no room in his damned lane,
or perhaps, his fare held a higher obligation—
a pressing engagement, no doubt.
God knows, the dead can be stiff tippers.
As the driver hauled (cold) ass past,
metallic spikes spun from the center
bore of each twenty-inch rim—a lofty
investment, surely the remnants of a medieval
flail or a morning star now sparing
death from life—either way,
a hell of a lot cheaper than a personalized
license plate: X F K W/ M E.
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