Wednesday, January 16, 2019
REDISCOVERED MAUDLIN POEM DATED “FREMONT FAIR SUNDAY SUMMER SOLSTICE SALMON BAY PARK 2000” WRITTEN IN THE MARGINS OF A TORN-OUT STRANGER COVER AND FOUND IN A PAPERBACK EDITION OF LI PO THAT I STOLE FROM THE VASHON LIBRARY AROUND THE SAME TIME
by David Fewster
Saw them get out of their Lexus
to pick up their 10 and 11 year-old daughters
fat, affluent, they were out of
a George Grosz painting,
hands on porcine hips, obviously giving the girls
a lecture on the
Disgusted, I bent back over my book,
a biography of the Marquis de Sade,
and surreptitiously took a slug
from my bottle of Hakusan saki,
fermented in the lovely
, Napa Valley
and wouldn’t you like to try it
I was interrupted by the sound
of elephants stampeding up a
It was the couple,
each with a happy, childlike glint
in their eyes,
running toward the park restrooms.
“Geez, they must have to go
really bad,” I thought,
having been in that situation
15 minutes ago, but the bastards
in the Ballard Parks Dept.
had the damned thing locked,
even if it was Sunday at ,
so I pissed in the bushes myself.
But no, they weren’t
there to piss—
their daughters soon
came up, and it was
obviously a game of
hide & seek, and the
look of joy had been from
the game and their love of it.
And I was abashed.
Where I had been
trying to find evil,
when the surface was scratched,
I only discovered
old hippies who
had not lost the
What the fuck’s
Wrong with me?
By koon woon - January 16, 2019
Tuesday, January 15, 2019
Tuesday, December 25, 2018
Monday, December 17, 2018
Saturday, December 1, 2018
Tuesday, November 20, 2018
Sunday, November 4, 2018
The Disembodied Hand
The hand that moves across the sterile hours in a ward for the insane…that wanders over the bare breasts of mad women hungry for a touch behind locked doors forever locked out the consciousness of those who toil in broad daylight for a loaf of illogic just so that the fat mouths of children can go on sucking…
The hand, the hand that is stationary on the defunct clock indicating ill repair…
The mistakenly purchased hand from a second-hand store made of plastics fabricated in Hong Kong in the impoverished sector of town for the Asian immigrants who have not been here that long nor is there a place of permanence in their hearts…
The hand that is penning this, the tired, effete, worn, and calloused hand that betrayed a heart that is now becoming as calloused as the opposition itself that calls for its severance from the body politics that hand previously fed it…
The hand that is tired of being judged, the abandoned, locked-away hand, the hand, the disembodied hand that belongs to no one and belongs to everyone…
The hand, the hand, the hand….
The hand that will finally pick up a weapon, the disembodied hand that belongs to no one and belongs to everyone… the hand, the hand, the hand…
By koon woon - November 04, 2018
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