Jeff Bagato
Jeff Bagato is a writer and electronic musician living near Washington, DC. Some of his poetry has appeared in Zoomoozophone Review, Otoliths, In Between Hangovers, Streetcake, Clockwise Cat, Zombie Logic Review, Full of Crow, Exquisite Corpse, and Chiron Review. His most recent book of poems, Savage Magic, came out in early 2016. Other poetry books include And the Trillions and Spells of Coming Day. He has also published several science fiction novels, including The Toothpick Fairy, Computing Angels, and Dishwasher on Venus. A blog about his writing and publishing efforts can be found at http://jeffbagato.wordpress.com.
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Running Across Harappa
a civilization
with excellent
plumbing
disappeared
forever without
a word
a sign
glowing red
that nobody
reads because
maybe they
don’t know they need
an
exit
Your Ad Here
oh nihilism
oh woe
oh fee fi
fo fum
oh balderdash on cue
when was the last
time I saw such
a grape ape
strutting before
the lens—
a raisin or four
backing a lengthy tune
with bells & whistles
& gosh
the purple Kong
prances well;
he means well,
I think;
he smells well,
(I mean to say),
as again & again
he raises placard
on high:
we deliver,
we service,
we sing:
cure alls &
crowns &
flit for the
bigger doo dah
of your dee
di
day
Barcode Traps
When you wish to see the
back of your
eyes when filled with sun
give rise
to a new screen
in a new cave,
the phone rings and asks
for your credit card number,
a number well-masked behind
your eyes—
a number somehow
equivalent to the length from earth
to the sun divided
by your life span,
and this divided by the number
of your breaths
during the call,
so foreseen—
to this figure add
the average number of clicks you
make on the remote when channel
surfing—and your eyes
fill with images
in arithmetic progression
until they
overflow as tears
The phone prompts
one number choice
at a time
when all other choices
seem irrelevant
Once all the numerals
of your life have been
submitted you
will receive your barcode
by mail,
the scanners hungry
like cockroaches for grease on a stove,
& phones like
remoras lunge for your
body,
eyes flashing your
numbers on the sky
Reaching for Mars with the Wrong End of the Stick
Why not shoot yer mouth off
when you can
get Uncle Sam
to do all your bailing
our reach
overextended on police
business and
oil business and the
business of America
with a really small
“a”
Mars beckons
where the green gods
sit in utopia’s pink sand,
grinningly and
gurningly
green,
not an overcoat in sight
and the nose of the market
leader sniffing
elsewhere
Our mars a rocket
shot away
a feast day
without a feast
for the people who dream
while those who hold
the rockets
eat deeply of the pie—
it goes in green—
teeth polished
& remarkably sharp,
and the bile
plentiful
it goes in green
out of a pocketbook
& into a maw,
chewed fine as sand
and the bile
plentiful
it goes in—
the rocket
dies
on the launching pad,
or just about
mid-sky
where it teaches
a lesson
about
dreams—
and comes out red,
not just the red of blood,
the red also
of livers,
muscle, tongues,
liquefied remains, and
the heart,
and the heart
Jeff Bagato is a writer and electronic musician living near Washington, DC. Some of his poetry has appeared in Zoomoozophone Review, Otoliths, In Between Hangovers, Streetcake, Clockwise Cat, Zombie Logic Review, Full of Crow, Exquisite Corpse, and Chiron Review. His most recent book of poems, Savage Magic, came out in early 2016. Other poetry books include And the Trillions and Spells of Coming Day. He has also published several science fiction novels, including The Toothpick Fairy, Computing Angels, and Dishwasher on Venus. A blog about his writing and publishing efforts can be found at http://jeffbagato.wordpress.com.
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