Raymond Farr


Not Bosch Just Snoopy

We are the song
You think is

Precious & Cloying
Screeching boiling kettle

Of hot water flying
A wet nuzzle of white

Hurtling thru hard
Winter air

& freezing there
We are

The odor you
Feel crawling all

Over you
That stays in the house

When you put
The cat out at night

We are the kiss
Of yr nose

Against the invisible
Rotting god

Of a gun flash
We drive

Like a single wing
Into the dark

Laughter
Of yr shadow

& there on a limb
We interface—

The maple world
& the saw dust world

The world of
The bird bath

& the world of
Perfect pitch

Tumble down
A staircase

Encrusted with
Daylight

& smoke has its
Wings on

& there is nothing
As powerful



& Oh How His Image Distorts

It’s ok
It’s NY—

The sky
Is always

Just
The idea

Of its own
Suicide

& it’s
A sanguine

6:26 pm
& I’m

Cooped up
Waiting out

The scary rain
In a movie

Theater lobby
& I’m

Standing
In line

To see
Richard Burton

& Ava Gardner
Bug-eyed

With lust in
Night of

The Iguana
(1964)—

A thirst for
Death in

The mouths
Of the young!

& I’m
Thinking

Maybe
Polenta

For lunch
Tomorrow

But when
I lick

My own
Eye

With
The tip

Of my
Own

Tongue
& win

A $20
Bet

From
This guy

In a
Purple Haze

T-shirt
He says

Shit!
I was so

Sure
You

Weren’t
A freak!

& oh how
My image

Distorts
As I

Move
Through

A crowd
Licking

My own
Eye



Raymond Farr is author of Ecstatic/.of facts (Otoliths 2011), Writing What For? across the Mourning Sky (Blue & Yellow Dog 2012), sic transit—“g” (Blue & Yellow Dog 2012, 2016), & Poetry in the Age of Zero Grav (Blue & Yellow Dog 2015). Raymond is editor of Blue & Yellow Dog, now archived at http://blueyellowdog.weebly.com & publisher/editor of a new poetry blog The Helios Mss at theheliosmss.blogspot.com.
 
 
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