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Doug Draime |
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Homeless Sellout With A PO Box The odds were against me, maybe 100 to 1 that theyıd accept any of the poems I sent. Then one day in my PO Box a check for $25 and a note saying they were going to publish one. The worst one I submitted. But then, what the hell do I know about poetry? I still think Rod Mc Kuen is a better poet than John Ashbery. And Bob Dylan has said more in one song than William Carlos Williams said in his entire writing career. So, they were publishing one of my poems, one I didnıt like much, in their corporate magazine ... with their large board of directors. Well, I cashed their check, bought the first real meal Iıd had in several days and sent them some more crap. The True Story Of Noah Several thousand years after the flood, Noah parked the ark in the New York harbor, got off to get a chili dog at Nathan's on Coney Island, took a cruise on the Staten Island Ferry, and won 40 thousand dollars in Atlantic City at the crap table. His wife. his sons, and his sonıs wives were all still dead asleep on the ark. Noah had drugged them with massive doses of Pamelor, Vicodin, and Effexor, so he could get a little R&R, alone, without the demands of domesticity. Everything was beginning to annoy and outrage him on the ark. The daily rut of keeping all the animals fed and clean, and all the shit mopped up was a 24/7 job in itself; they had to do it in in 8 hour shifts. The constant bickering between the women was becoming unbearable. And, for the last couple hundred years, his sons had developed the bizarre habit of walking in on Noah and his wife, Mrs. Noah, when they were drunk and fucking, which had caused his wife not to get drunk, and fuck him, she just shut him off. Noah stayed away from the ark for several weeks, going from party to party at nights, and playing the stock market during the days. He came back to the ark a rich and satisfied man, only to be appalled by the fact that no one had made the slightest effort to clean up the animal shit. He knew what had to be done, and threw himself right into it. When he was finished, there was not a hint, a spot, a trace, or a whisper of creature doo-doo. One clean ark, he determined! Then he drugged them all again, fucked his sleeping wife, rented a car and drove to Hollywood, where he is to this day contemplating that voice that was booming from the sky thousands of years ago. Friends Of The Ex When I meet them I see that she has filled them with her point of view. They stare and pout at me from the edge of their hunches, with absolute disgust. One got so bold as to call me from 300 miles away, to tell me what a bum and piece of slime I am. I listened for a few moments, trying to reason with her, but finally I just hang up. I sometimes I want to hate them in return, but I donıt even hate the ex. Though, I am strangely intimidated and baffled by her continual, bizarre rage She has become like some crazy person I donıt care to know, like one of the homeless, a complete stranger, screaming obscenities at me walking on the other side of the street. |