A statement....

[Tom Yossarian Joad]

EUFALA 1

Red woolen cap
with ragged pulls and tears smells of rain,
smeared with shit.

Matted hair, kinky, defying any comb,
smelling of mildew.
And occasionally drops,
in clandestine clumps.
And is never really missed

Her face is war torn wrinkles, mapping roads
from painful yesterdays to a numb today,
taking a reader deeper
than one would ever want to go.
Her eye-whites are yellow, with
a crusted yellow mucous that
cakes where sunshine strikes.
The amber crystals meet with
white crusted snot on an upper lip
over a permanent grin
of missing teeth and pyorrhea.
A broken nose
from a first husband, not centered.
smells the stench though.

Her shoulders curled
for fear and wear,
covered by salvation
army sweaters and
coat that once covered
the shoulders of women that wore Este Lauder.
now smelling
like the privates festering beneath skirt
and pants.
Not washed for months.
Legs shake and warp
the diet takes its toll.
And is turning her bones
into memories.

She sits in the park
in front of the swings
watching the children play,
and imagines a time
when her father would push (push)
her, oh, so high.
His strong hands (hands)
Would catch her (catch her)
slim waist, and push again
(not again).

And in her mind,
the swing would fly back again, to earth,
and start a return to sky, catching her father's
head with the rusty edge,
driving deep into his brain, smashing hard,
letting out the countless years of pain.
They spiral out, then cascade,
pouring out like springtime rain,
(faeries dancinq in delight,
Catchinq bits of brain in buttercups,
offerinq all to those who thirst)
touching everything,
but covering nothing.



EUFALA 2

You get used to pain.
And happiness belongs to the beholder.

syphilis takes a nibble.
a brain cell here and there.
Destroying hope and wonderment
withdrawing things that care.

Synaptic functions,
once quick, once true,
now kindly ignore
any darkened view.

Inurement to Reality gives joy.



Eufala 3

Corn, corn, cornucopious
dumpsters on the street
wafting scents of potato and roast
wet dreams of fresh cooked meat.














Sweet dreams. Welcome to the America I feared 20 years ago.

[Tom Yossarian Joad]

1. A nevermind kick.

Tianamen

[Tom Yossarian Joad]

2. One last statement for wannabee thread....

[Tom Yossarian Joad]

3. Oh, fuck it. I'm a glutton for self promotion and punishment...

This thing is a bit historical in the realms of poetry and the internet.....



(See: Judson Jerome)

[Tom Yossarian Joad]

4. Jud is dead. now...

But he taught me a thing or two an was the first editor and poet to think about my shit.

http://www.alexa.com/search?amzn_id=alexa65-tb-20&q=judson+jerome&p=TBChrome

[Tom Yossarian Joad]

5. You know, 3 months before he died, I slammed him for publishing my stuff

under the "anonymous" name. He wrote me the best apology letter I could have ever hoped for.