Paul Siegell


*WE’VE COME FOR YOUR VOLCANIC ACTIVITY*

They just put it up. The large banner hanging outside the world
famous Ming Dynasty Museum and Mineral Hot Spring reads, “
Wyoming welcomes Ernest Hemingway!” It’s all gonna go over
like a fart in church. Somebody just called, asked, “Is the under-
taker there?” Deadbeat dad scavenger hunt. His daughter replied,
“Well, fire up a pack of adjectives!” As passionate about Picasso
as M.C. Esher was about calculating the square root of a sculpture
garden, the matador stripped on down to his leopard print Speedo.


*WE’VE COME FOR YOUR DRINK SPECIALS*

The eyes of his temptress are like two mazes encased in
a frozen lake. A hint of firmament, the foreshadow of a
silhouette. Shots-sloppy idiotics: En route back from the
bar, he “hahaha”-leapt onto the hood of a Hyundai Santa
Fe, then started running on top of the row of parked cars.
“Is she ok,” he wondered, “with such douche-baggery?”
Numb nuts scavenger hunt. An alarm goes off. “Well, eat
my emergencies!” she says. He says, “Like a circus freak
on a winning streak, I’m in love with a green-eyed girl!”


*WE’VE COME FOR YOUR PRESSURE POINTS*

Like back when first she found the fireworks and ice cream in
between her thighs, much of life is found within the listening.
Everything was so much better back when it was the weekend.
Is it time yet to drive the trumpet out onto the turnpike? Guy in
the hallway goes, “Don’t worry. They won’t start without you.”


*WE’VE COME FOR YOUR MUNICIPAL WASTE*

Forthright, Ferlinghetti’s checkbook’s balanced: Bahamas!
Instead of fresh biscotti with F. Scott Fitzgerald, our table’s
set for “squeasels” a la Anthony Bourdain. Betsy Ross plays
Tetris before breakfast. A stack of pancakes scavenger hunt.
Syrup for the drunken satyr. With far worse ways to spend a
day, poor Cortés is lost in a toilet vortex. Haha Montezuma!


*WE’VE COME FOR YOUR HOURS OF OPERATION*

(But the pain, all the pain, it all goes //A\\W//A\\Y//, sport,
the second you step foot inside for a \\W//A\\W//A\\ shorti)


*WE’VE COME FOR YOUR BURIED TREASURE*

“Now class, underneath this Hello Kitty band-aid, as identified
by its delightful red bow, is Emily Dickinson’s famously sliced
open thumb. The gash she gained when Joan of Arc was coming
after her.” Banned books scavenger hunt. By the time you figure
out which “We” you belong to, the poems have already gone off
at all different angles. To moisten the voices, lest we want Eddie
Vedder to read us the Riot Act, now’s a good time to set the art-
ificial insemination of all the existential oyster shells into motion.
Hanging with, quiet, there’s been a fly atop my Mac all morning.



Paul Siegell is the author of three books of poetry: wild life rifle fire (Otoliths, 2010), jambandbootleg (A-Head, 2009) and Poemergency Room (Otoliths, 2008). Trailers for these books are yours for the YouTube-viewing [here]. Paul is an editor at Painted Bride Quarterly, and has work forthcoming in Black Warrior Review, Dark Sky Magazine, No Tell Motel, SLAB and other fine journals. Kindly find more of Paul's work, and get signed copies, at ReVeLeR @ eYeLeVeL.
 
 
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