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  • - * 13 DOORS OF X* *Meeah Williams* The Barking Cat Press * 2015 Brooklyn, NY * Seattle, WA copyright 2015 Meeah Williams/The Barking Cat...

Sunday, March 18, 2018

Dad’s Secret Pornography Stash

Russian tanks came rolling out of the donut hole
just as they were arriving at the Professor’s cottage.
Gilligan, the most recognizable entity within miles,
was perplexed by something simple. Let’s call it
polyphony. The first principles
of dust manipulation. They were left to chance
like a monkey in our collective pocket.
The color orange we can’t wash out.

We couldn’t get old Frida Kahlo off the floor
for walnuts. She was content to lie there
blowing bubbles at the rainforest ceiling.
No one could remember if she hung herself
or stuck her head in the oven or what
& if so what we ever did about it.

Remember, the life you save
may come back to haunt you.

Meanwhile, in another room, boarded up
for winter, their seed propagated a serpent elite
who left for California. Someone downstairs
was shouting “There are no George Washingtons!”
Just before the gunshots we wanted Woolite.
“Here are 98 cents of him!” someone
shouted back. BAM BAM BAM! He, too,
put on his hat & left, taking his soaking wet
boxes with him. “Him and his piranhas,”
said his weeping wife, who’d thrown him out.
Serves her right. Him, as well.
Ah so….

We’ve learned to live with the leopard
under the bed. The head stuffed with dust-bunnies,
the birdhouse with the broken leg.
These are the days Jesus remembered,
Jesus, who these days is Himself just a metaphor
for King Kong & a spicy brand of cheese spread
in an aerosol can who don’t redeem us nothin’.
He is crouched on the floor, holding a silver platter
lengthwise overhead that, combined with its twin above it,
stands in for all our stupid tears.

Monday, March 5, 2018

Congratulations, you’ve woken up this morning.
Thinking ahead to all the times you won’t,
it’s no mean trick.
The world outside your window
is just as you remember it.
The prayer flags yield gently to the wormy breeze.
The geese honking air in great gulps they’re so glad to be back.
From behind his computer, my husband reports
that North Korea still exists.
I have so much trouble
fastening my earring, I briefly consider
my ear may be on wrong.

Friday, March 2, 2018

Instructions for Surviving the Death of the Sun
Your personal life will be served ala carte when the universe 
begins shredding.  Your expectations last no longer than a heart’s 
failure. Step down a stairway of sparks. Take up blasphemy at the 
blackboard. The best flexibility will enable you to roam with 
scissors, eat many pineapples, & become a circle of superheroes.
The key is to find your ultraviolet songbird.
Your imaginary top hat.
Everything you fear is already on its knees.

Thursday, March 1, 2018

Change of Face

For a long time I was so tired of my face that one morning I just took it off. It turned out to be easier than I imagined. There were two hinges, one behind each ear. All I had to do was disengage these hinges and the whole face came off like a plastic mask. Underneath was another plastic mask. Then another and another. As far as I could tell, it was masks all the way down. I stopped when I came to a cute squirrel mask. I’d always wanted to look like a squirrel. I couldn’t wait to debut the new me at work but when I got there no one seemed to notice the change. Peg in accounting asked me if I’d shaved off my mustache. I’ve never worn a mustache in my life, I replied with indignation. Bill, who shared my office, thought I’d gotten a haircut. Someone else wanted to know if I’d lost weight. It was so frustrating I wanted to scream, What’s the matter with you?! I’ve got a new face!! Are you all blind?! But that would have defeated the point. The only ones who noticed were the squirrels in the little park through which I walked every day to and from work. And they’d never accepted me and had made it clear a long time ago that they never would.

Wednesday, February 21, 2018

=A Quick Guide to Noam Chomsky=

A. Philosopher's flowing locks. 

B. Intellectual hand gesture. 

C. Lines from thinking deep thoughts  NOT from being perpetually baffled like most folks.

D. Wardrobe of a man with more important things to ponder than sweaters.  

E. Sad expression because other people are such hopeless dumb-asses.

Tuesday, February 20, 2018

Semi-Detached Muscle Salad
Abbreviation ballyhoo
we’re watching where you live
the soap the soup the zohar
rockets on the bridge
times up for subterranean
half-pipe elbowtown & grease
the empty robe
the buzzing bees
the ribcage
flying skulls
& creep
rainbow time for robots
master tongue
no more
swallow-up the universe
the clam machine
rising clean
the standard dish of poor
precipitation nowhere
rollercoaster clean
tachymeter dream
its here
its clear
the eye peep

Sunday, February 18, 2018

The Catastrophe Memo
These quests can only be completed once.
After a cosmopolitan bohemian life, you don’t
always see what’s going on in your own head.
For instance, champagne glasses.
Deaf policemen.
The sequel.
The first mouse moved quickly, gave up & drowned.
She was caught flat-footed,
clutching, like a crumb, a radioisotope.
Meaning: cirrus clouds with an eyeball on one end.
Almond cookies.
There is no end to the bed-springing.
Eerie events unfold.
The entrepreneur lights up.
She shows up in her bright fuzzy butcher’s apron.
Lamb’s wool & then some.

Wednesday, January 24, 2018

Philadelphia Raygun

Pigeons bubble around the popcorn lady's feet.
We know the dead are for sale. They smile haphazardly.
Some people were never meant to be children but a

 special kind of childproof brick. What were you hoping to learn?
My brain is a terrorist bomb 
exploding silently every hour.

Tuesday, January 23, 2018

Brief Interviews with Forgotten Underwear Models

She had a face like boiling milk, according to her principal biographers, Briggs & Stratton. She once said, I’m not the type to dissolve into a handful of asterisks tossed over some man’s bed. She once said, You’ll never find me combing the grass blades of any lawn in a northwesterly direction. On the outskirts of the small Tennessee town where she was born & raised, there’s still a gas pump dedicated to her memory. One day, we’ll all eat teriyaki on the beach without despair as the sky unrolls above us like a clean blue papyrus. She points to a blank spot in the distance and says wistfully, I used to be a hieroglyphic there once.