The Ones Without Collars by Voodoofish, literature
Literature
The Ones Without Collars
the rains left you an
imperceptible stain
on the back road blacktop
where once you were a
ragged pile of rough fur,
fat flies and jutting bones
where once you swelled and
stank, stiff limbs and leaking
ends untouched by buzzards
where once you may have
only just been sleeping,
ignored by hands or tires
where once I saw you,
three months before, as you
bounded through falling rain
3AM: Notes Written in the Dark by Voodoofish, literature
Literature
3AM: Notes Written in the Dark
Midnight scribbles
on post-its and skin
late morning notes
to myself
from myself
Completely illegible
in more ways than one:
Self-perpetuating Paradox,
Forest of Stars,
Fat Uncle, underlined
and circled in red
Alive Baby lives
because
[indistinct]
Fictional band names
for fictional bands:
(The) Dainty Morticians,
Adorable Loan Sharks,
American Meat Cleavers,
This is Your Knee
Names of forgotten
tertiary characters:
Carin
Naheed
Sabisstra
Maruu
(Vons daughter/mother/
sister/wife)
Robotic vampires
siphoning blood,
25,000 tacos is
not nearly enough,
and XEGAPAIN-XOR??
Unfinished passages
writ
Outstretching the sunset,
you alter my angles:
sowing feathers and ash
on my orderly rows,
my amber veined onions.
I, wanting only frail
frazzled perfection, am
left spitting in the wake
of your snakeskin decay.
The roses grow only
so red to distract you,
while I hide my patterns
in petulant haystacks,
wiping your fingerprints
from my snapdragon dreams.
Sung on a Southern Saturday by Voodoofish, literature
Literature
Sung on a Southern Saturday
Aint no streetcars to the Southlands
the Lowlands, the Badlands
no more trains run through the Flatlands
at least not anymore
But down at the crossroads
the suns gettin gone
Rhythms got her red shoes on
Improvs shinin up his horn
Flows slidin up to Jazz real slow
so slow
and there
she dont blush, she been around
Bluesmans tunin his steel guitar
(won from the Devil in a rigged game of cards)
he smiles his smile, egret White
--girl, can you play the blues?
The air is
conflicted by
contrasting scents:
the sharpness of fire,
the cool, gritty mud.
You feel the heat
behind Plexiglas
windows, as earthbound
thunderheads
unfurl like chiffon
hems from a
cream couture dress.
The sparks are licking
and biting at the
clay colored sky.
She would look perfect
just standing at the
edge of the fire.
I will not accept
this rebellious behavior.
Antihero, hands
off the Main Character. Shes
happily married
to your rival, the Jester.
Main Villain/Big Bad,
dont be such a damn pussy.
You want the heroes
to die in horrible ways.
Rebel Queen, could you
please be less of a psycho?
I do not approve
of your new love of slaughter.
There will be no more
negotiation. Go on,
scream as much as you
like. Im the one with the pen.
I swear to the Muse,
I will pull this brain over.
I squat in the tub, porcelain cold against my thighs
The drain plugged up
(Waste not, Want not)
pills sloshing in my stomach from
one, two, three hours before
The fourth time in so many months
The camera set up
perfectly angled to capture my performance
(Let them get an eyeful)
The cramps will be painful
shockingly so
The blood doesnt bother me
anymore
I sweat and cringe like they expect
Its much easier in the dark
(My eager Fabricators)
I grit my teeth, imagining blue eyes
a scruffy beard
at least
I think this one was his
Slip proof mat under my feet:
I am Janet Leigh
(No, youre a Psycho)
the
"Its like watching the best movie ever, says The Author, but you can
only explain it to others using sign language.
Might as well show photos to the blind.
The Author onstage: her soft hands in the pockets
of a green panda hoodie. Black emo glasses, short hair.
Any and every unassuming student.
Onstage, instead of a spotlight, a movie fragment: Recycled news footage
of fans in line for 6 am signings and midnight releases.
The camera pans
over breathless, expectant, bespectacled
faces in robes
and wizard hats.
When you have a story in your head for this long, it becomes ev
This place is so fucking redundant, he said suddenly.
I didnt take my eyes off the road. The darkening farmland kept rolling on, just as it had done for the past four--no, five-- hours. The last decent rock station had fizzled into nothing ages ago, leaving behind only the regurgitated dregs of the airwaves: county music and Christian talk radio. The kid in the passenger seat had made one of his patented looks of disgust and switched off the radio. Wed been riding in silence ever since.
Ye can say tha agin, I said. I let out a dry half-laugh, smirking at my own dumb joke. Beside me, the kid sighed. I swea