Volume 1, Number 3 -- October, 1996

Collection #1

by Ben Ohmert

Degen's Mind

Old Orlean's, rust colored doors that hurt.
Power in his shoes
When he failed to walk,
whores hanging arms
truth whistled past,
experiments mixing with every chance
ordering through, he
asked of the guy changing change in pockets
honor by the sheep in eyes that went direct mail,
still cost more
Gray Lady Down here,
speaking of being near the near great
if floating into if like the orange coat of the room meant something
cigars burning away into holes rightly owned by nothing
prices wanted and begged to be released
black met might and a Payless Shoes sticker near the back
which fell into a wall that kept talk coming
super nickel followers needing it twenty times,
the man inventing the filter smoker waiting just without,
seeing a killing without choking on blood

6 or Half a Dozen

yellow bike to the boy spite grows with The Boy Kit,
what else?
AARP digs sleep out of apartment eyes,
evidence keeps until trials go soft
family name talks about a computer search - all that's left
dogs work at government agencies now,
the odd Kiss poster
what he knows,
what could be
Let's Go To The Races,
free game card each week with your groceries
and the man always in the Stetson and indistinguishable color tie
always splits the spoiled,
moving into the one room when he says it's fine.
good.
waffles out of toaters and the cereal box comes open the other way round
find. good.
something rubber that Fred said have,
purple Dino is a god away
Springs break and colors set to reruns while the court convenes to establish
procrastination.
the best years are in preparation,
he'll change white for red milk
socks won't tube anymore,
country: annoying,
figures go to the women, to Doom
apartment keys. will he want the man there anyway?
might Need fruit one day
regulations don't require a regular feeling.
cars zoom but fuel injection
only goes to the junkies that can afford it

For Mel

The most influential voice

isn't merely enclosed in a Saturday morning structure,
but follows us somewhere every hour

through the visual kingdom you rule,
and haunts us to know we never knew you

(the closest you ever got was Sylvester).
But we wanted to.
And every year as you grew younger, more remembered, deeper voiced,
your mask spread and enveloped a higher ability and,

like the god of a small child,
you became worshipped through every further market syndication,

program increase,
until there was nothing left of yourself,

giving so much, unless you count
the thousands of hours smiling strangers will infiltrate

without knowing your name.

Can You Read?

because I gripped the football wrong, my girlfriend was ravaged
there was no insertion, but once a tit is fondled...
picking my nose for snot that made my eyes water,
I settled for a good book instead of great sex
and I thought "the Koran would make Oscar magic"
so when the script was finished, I held a gnome's hand
and took it to an agent who stood over it and
pissed on it through her skirt. she admired the absorbancy
and offered me a 3 picture deal, but only if I could write them all that day
I tried, but I had to masturbate. she said she understood,
and we looked into each other's eye and looked away, and vomitted

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