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FRED
close my eyes &
dance with pain a
medium waltz—no, a
tap dance with a
needle on his shoe a
sharp one - deep - with
blood black ink that
makes me sing
like a dying dog—I heard a
cat die once he
shuffled to me for his
swan song with his
legs as numb as
mine are now as they
dangle off the chair & miss
the floor by several
footsteps, as I am
known to do quite
frequently—to
stabilize my
thoughts to
harmonize my
pieces to wrap my
soul in a contingent whole
that includes a new
tattoo.
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FAME
I hear it
rumble beneath the
surface it is ripe
to burst forth like a
Pacific volcano or the
cyst on the butt of my
boyfriend's sister's dog but
fame would repel if it oozed
like
that left green gobs of
gooey so fame, I won't have
it
like that—it may
slap me quite silly or turn
my
world into a tilt-o-whirl
but
each night it shall
take me in its arms - and
twirl me like a lover in
a polka.
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WHAT CAN YOU LEARN FROM A COW
the cows
just stand
& look
at you - with no
excitement nor
fear nor regret
nor remorse—
even when
you beep
your bike
horn - they
glance then
go back to
their
business the
art of
acceptance.
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EXTERMINATION
I had
another poem but it
flit from my head if I were
cheesy I'd say like a
butterfly but I'm not so it
wallowed like a cockroach or
those
armor-clad fat black
beetle bugs that hid
beneath the baseboards until
the
exterminator came with his
pumpy jar of poison & said
we
could not mop for several
days & to
refrain from licking the
baseboards & the bugs fled
from their huts that
lined the walls now lined
with death fumes but they
really do not flit but
rather amble. |
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THE SKULLS IN MY FRONT YARD
if I water
the bones will they
sprout a new goat will he
grow four fresh hooves & a
shiny new coat will he
learn how to buck trot &
prance—& enlighten my yard with
a dance—will he guard my back
alley from killers & thieves will he
eat up my garbage & chew all the
weeds keep my lawn spanking clean
so the flowers will grow gnaw the
grass to the quick so I
won't have to mow will he
love me as none loved before—or
leave goat poop in front of my door
- perhaps I am selfish if I bid him
to
live for the poor goat must then go
through death once again.
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AFTERSHOCK
MOVING FROM NY TO NM
the world
shifts beneath your feet but
it was all you choice—you're the
one who up & moved for a new
job a new house a new
life—& added in the mix a
brand new guy - but your head
screams you'll be fired then
evicted & then dumped, as you
teeter in your state of confusion—that zone of microscopic naked
vulnerable—like when the dentist
takes your glasses off & tells you
open
wide as he drills out big chunks of
your body—your new life, well, it
feels a lot like that - as your
teeth fall down the riverbank that
seems to
have no edge—but a slope of steep
fear that consumes you—as you
grasp
for a tender reed of reason—but
somewhere down the riverbed that
thing
called logic drowned & your foot
slips & squishes down the mud bank—with
the dirt as wet & thick as slick red
blood.
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Ryn Gargulinski is a poet, author and artist who is also
managing editor of a newspaper in Tucumcari, NM. She was
born in Michigan, came to life in New York and lives with
four goats, two dogs, a cute boyfriend and a pet rat on a
couple of acres near the infamous Route 66. Her illustrated
book BONY YOGA came out in Sept. with Red Wheel/Weiser and
is available on www.amazon.com. Look for RATS INCREDIBLE
next spring on amazon.com and learn more about the artist at
www.ryngargulinski.com. Read her New Mexico news at
www.qcsunonline.com.
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