ditch,

the poetry that matters

Ray McClaughlin Jr

Ray McClaughlin Jr is from Etobicoke, Ontario. He is working on his first chapbook of poetry called Shake, Rattle & Roll. Ray McClaughlin Jr blogs at http://raymcclaughlinjr.blogspot.com/

FAKE FAIL EPIC POEM

jailed at times
attempts
failure at 6 miles
pre kite apes
failed at thesis
that blunt instrument
times new Greek salad
flare gun in the tackle box
signature lure
miracle whip
on my sister-in-law
Amy's cruel behind

 

 

Eastern Version

Etobicoke  if  
your fat gassy brick is gas only,

furtherest from warmth  
eat, turnips, burp past
(a little more pasta)

blind my eyes 

how  stinky the pipes           are stuffing

the sky  
are                special K theories baked milk

in social  
barf ovens

roasted thorns Jesus Christ, it's Shake 'n Bake

time to eat

there are home owners

trying to die


 

 

crack in the foundation

And still pigeon, dimly lit and lousy enabler, ya seep through morning stewing

in sunny juices

How we shew ya away through each sleep, 

 

Finishing nails in my mouth, Christ almighty, I add a bird feeder for your cousin Judy,
You straw-bearing, you seep, roof in roof. Come here. It's Thanksgiving's roof.

 

Last Wednesday. You failed a mail test (RIP).

We'll hang it on the foundation's beam of our three story garage.

My husband gets excited every time our neighbour Angela makes a sandwich, and rattles her lemonade cups, all icy and nicy.

Wifey! Retrofit seeps drips and trees drip morning.
Across our morning, across television dinners, through failed wheat. How trees map out digestion.

Rock rock rock rock paper scissos scone. Each brick is a wink in a sneezing love affair. My wife sits on the phonebook. Through our still.

And Angela and my wife are still across the river, copy-editing Miami Vice colouring books. Ginger Root lemonade. My cousin Beth is still dripping dry in cement, you are still firm in the morning

son, through failed trees, that turned into paper, that failed to portray people wearing clothing and failed all in you. 

A lash across you of lightening and enlightenment. How you seep trees and drip our morning weather vain weakness. 

 

You and your dashing morning. Our sleep all through your dirty blonde hair that stinks. Roots, grains. You rain. How do you house, how?

 

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                                                                                                                                            August 2011