Callie Garnett
3 Poems
Occupational Therapy
I’ve been having trouble
Holding my phone
It hurts
Heat is good
That’s why the gun is warm
Faint lemon
Scent on the Sabbath
Lyn drags cool
Jergens on me w/ the
Wand she used on others (jerk-offs)
All of us softening up
Me Lyn Jamie the Barber at
East River Occupational Therapy
Resting our mitts on standard issue
writing desks & Shitting on Ringo
Whatever, it was an infection
I picture you out west, polyamorous but
Tight about it
Wise & kind of sausage like Ringo
Small in such a big car
Jostling on the trax
Or when dancing, spazzing
to jukebox
Bop as if on puppet
Strings of Galouix. Is it true We have
Like 2 dance moves: Pretending
Not to be filled w/ hate & asking
Big-eyed for a coin
& this other thing. I’ll think of a better word
I get Moose Trax
[ingredients: list]
I want to throw the plate
That scatters Magic Beans when it
Fucking breaks
You climb down the stalk w/ your
Finger still in the ring-pull of the
Backdrop it was…
Backdrop, that’s the word (?)
Something like a fixed market value but it
Can change; change is
Like X-ray or infra-red (X) happens
But nothing happens, you said
I tried to walk & also stay softened up
I strung the string between two cups
You called, I continued walking
It was you said like nothing
Happened, he
Recoiled splitting the kingdom
Reminding you of life
“A darkness of midday light
Passed over my eyes”
That’s me in the porno
Me in the bubble, in the box
He imagined & I
Listen like I’m
In the green room of your visits to him &
Him. Ultrasound
Doesn’t only image
It also softens up the afflicted tissue
Ringo was bad / Ringo was good
“Ringo was there
& he had the right look,” said the barber
“he had the right hair, he was real, everything…
The Abundance
I come from a long line of
Fish-hatchery specialists
& as a result really haven’t
In private
Nurtured my true worth the soul felt
Gazing out at brook trout pools / bowfin pens
When I do
It rolls out, myself
I become a shameless name-dropper
Concerning what I feel I’ve bought w/ sight
Say, matching the young turtles to adults
This morning,
optimizing my copy
For search engine I thought
You shd be in the keywords
For see how they find our hatchling way
To the keywords, the abundance
For example “examples of misdemeanors”
For “Los Angeles”
For “Cost of living”
For “Why didn’t she speak up yesterday”
“Why did she lie at the end”
“Why did she lie at the end of green inferno”
For “buy you off meaning”
Time
They will question thee, the citizenry
Concerning what they should spend, say
Soylent II
Something so jizzy about the first
Blossoms of clam-bake season
What a waste, Dusk.
He hit the footlamps & we
Boarded the teacups
Wharfside
Me in my oxblood boots.
I can be quite
Dressed at Night
When Alan switches to solid foods.
The sky in its infinite
Lift ladeled down
A skinned rosehip
Touched my knee w/ Sea spray
Lights lateral whipped
Keep your limbs inside &
I think I flicked a firefly arranging its carapace off me
I tell you Dandelion seeds
Torpedo like we span, Spun.
& slowed, last brays
Of female orgasm as sung by Richard Pryor…
Then I became as a Large Murex
Wobbling on a boardwalk
Sno cone stain
& took the off-tray position
To talk on the big
White phone.
Pomegranates
Or grenades
It can be translated
I forget the rest
Of the consolation…
But on the book of Conflict,
Alan had written
Don’t you worry
Hug the earth discreetly
Dissolve far off in yr worst fate, either way
Summer / is halved / like a tomato
…
Its juice / runs through
Its juice / running / through the streets
The wind won’t take
Alan’s flimsy salad.
It’s as if the food wants to be eaten