the poetry that matters

J.M. Scoville

J. M. Scoville is split between southern Louisiana and western Oregon. His work has appeared online at Ululations, storySouth, Spoiled Ink/Edit Red, and most recently at Starfish Poetry. Offline, he has been printed in the first Edit Red anthology and in a number of issues of Freudian Shrimp. His prose has been nominated for the Pushcart Award, the Million Writers Award, and he has won a Spoiled Ink Award.

(ed) (ing) child’s werewolf




(ed) (ing) child’s werewolf   (…mas[s]

                        christ of emptiness cold black nessing

                        wit fear child making for God sing

                        cur[se] consumption [being] family’s his

                        behold to forced is child where

                        werewolves of assembly vast for

                        feast vast for ingredients into

                        them making divinely them eating

                        christ & angels found santa

                        has found)

has found               divinely (making them

                        into ingredients for cur

                        sing God, for making child fear) wit

                        nessing emptiness…


turning, palm is        exposed (crete potions of flat ground

                        we will be attending after con

                        boy boots for big stomping

                        says bathing gal with no cow:

                        “hate gum chew

                        ing” says bathing gal with no cow

                        boy boots for big stomping

                        we will be attending after con

                        crete potions of flat ground), bare

                        except scars & blunders











“no where, no thing”



no where, no thing

purple alligator arms elevated

fingers grasp for innocent sight

unstable memory stands on its seven legs

a sudden hat becomes cement, is tipped to

            streetlights, slips & breaks into

            a trillion pieces of fat & bottle caps

worry lips break into four, like huckleberry jam

impure words flow into the valley

flow into the valley

into the valley

the valley—no more













ungroovy love-hunger



[I was meaning to say]

(Z)ephyr’s zero vector: goth blackened veil tattoo

web,(tail piped) hep-garb, faux incest,

invisible lap-harp performed in her

folds, indoors- viewpoint shot      from below

to see up to her undies-less-ness mess

(Y)oyo yoni: ingénue’s big assed eye’s, cinnamon     

(hind-witness, rind delicious), becomes in

      dulged, blow (ing) long black waterfalls

(X)erophyte,  xenobiotic: big ol’ freckles, (zip’d

out) child’s nose turned up, too tight short

shorts, redhead love pile preserving free scrub

(W)aif, wriggling: baby on run, kissing

      her mommy with tongue, zigzagging

      gypsy, coast guard cutters’ port of call

      [gives me crabs              

or I think she gives me crabs             (J)ump cut

or the pecker birthmark      

that is never there before                (A)mbient

winter of our fuckings, winter           

expiring w/ full semen                    (S)ubjective camera

up between her thighs, her up      

on top like Japanese float in Pacific     (O)ver-the-shoulder

& disappearance              

& calls from lost vegas,                  (N)ight-for-night

confides in me that she’s pregnant,

making me assume its mine, me back

in the clearcuts, under satyr’s con,

blinking, while she’s in lawful brothel,

tasting her dreams of another female,

learns to give head, returns, calls me

to her apartment, where she demon

strates professional blow-job, then

it is over, just her mouth on me, me un

nervous, no more penetration, going

our separate ways afterwards]

      ungroovy hunger

[no, I mean]

(V)ery ungroovy love-hunger












my interview with Günter Grass,

while watching go-go girl adjust her g-string



guerrilla fotomaking: petrified (pre

dictable) (scratching, tearing screen/flesh),

orange private strands (of what we will

call paper), what astro-nodes drink- same old

fodder (rejuvinate) (refused): “we like our girls”

[bergman to sjöman over supper, iced

metteur-en-scene- Persona           (le demon de midi)

to I Am Curious (Yellow)]           (“the demon at noon”)

bare mid drifts (you drift, I drift, we all drift

for bare mid drifts!) castaway tight sweaters,

unfettered flesh, speech through belly

buttons, past jewelry, past mid

shipman (elviS’ ann-margret, whirly orange

cycloned clothesline flapping,

bass fridge gurge & drum davenport surge

remixed, fixed by DJ’d dry, stir-less cock

tails in broad daylight/ crack of dawn light,

might of carnal pierced purse- where

the sun don’t shine…)


(clever) electronics, pyrotechnics cross bow,

submerge (ing) groovy girls slumbering

on worked sheets, along tubs (w/ shower

curtains pulled down) like spiral stairs drink

ing shots (when you swim, sipping, you cough,

sipping, you shouldn’t sip when swimming)


skin gathers about base of candle, where

blouse becomes skirt, so we can see our

selves, when girl goes down & we see

her skin, see flash of premonition

      I feel her thong’s waist

band peaking over garments, pretend

ing mod(ulation) definitely, pretending

pop ee-ROT-ics, girl of the week slot machine

tasting one’s hoof, licking it during job

interview with Günter Grass through drink

ing glasses & repeatedly introducing my

self is better- it’s better to be petted than fuck

ed- watching as she adjusts her g-string, then leaves,

left w/ lonesome clickings of the heels to her go-go












Zeitgeist Celluloid Kick



feeding on unyielding, what

you call laughable melan



flavors forgotten before

time, smells given out

as free passes to a hor


rible zeitgeist celluloid



telling you there is no

change, will be no change


get used to knowing

your face forced through

screen door


and down sink, out pipes

into septic system


assurances are less than

cheap, they create friends

akin to 36 million deep

in our poverty, next to

education that always

gets shoulder shrug


when all we  have is this

rapid series of vocations


festering-collapsing- pre

tending-lying working

from yesterday to today


(who can imagine

tomorrow, except as

scratched vinyl wheel

repeating: zeitgeist


celluloid kick, zeit

geist celluloid kick

is a lark – has no

bark, has no teeth…)


pressed to spent

ground we gargle – 

trash, cement, as

phalt, black tar as

some new mouth

wash solution


(garbage trucks are

out on holiday until



or so I remind myself, re

hearse, secretly conjure

into codes I know

you’ll get


that no one will get


except me.













inter-Galactic Glam Femme Revival (Tranzmission)



spinning inter-Galactic wheel ain’t no cliché

landing gear prostrated

(my friend, my friend)


      list  en    ing, cup

to my wall list-en-ing to out

side, outdoors, nearside, savor

ing anticipation, mixing w/ heart

burning habanera peppers


to her interstellar tires on gravel?

to her ass held in suspension?

cosmic star girl (Cosmo

naut [ette]/[etta]) landing on

another’s exposed breast, nipple

parking meter inflating

      echo: through walls

I hear her ejecting, her lunar boots

reaching down to our gravity

from extended ladder

      sight (achieved w/ dia

mond porthole): I see

her Barbarella garb

all titillating

            (think of Jane Fonda tumbling

            about flirtatious credits,

            over libidinous furs

            when she passed Venus)

(my friend) I suspect danger

(my friend) I suspect invasion


      unearthly co

      minglings of species

not intended on co

mingling, breed

ing new races of para


noid freaks

to feed all the carnivorous plants

back in the lab as the sun requests

a partial eclipse on the day they say

somebody important made himself born

forcing us to keep our days & lives in

the order of HIS years since birth, OUR

births always measured against HIS almighty


while solar dreams sigh & implode


following their listening to another Midnight Mass

swallowing the spacestation MIR before it can fall

swallowing us before we can sustain

the new millennium, before new bonfires

can be lit along the banks of the Mississippi

in the manner they were lit for santa

& his team of magical werewolves, before fire

works can start the fires committing us

to this temporary century of night, before

the sun decides and goes out for good, casting

the International spacestation into volcanic

wide open eyes (orange, I mean Tang colored)         

closing all their eyelids with all the eyelids

of this corrupted, doomed, world of Ecstasy (naked

Hedy Lamarr being found ready for me by the water, dis

robed, innocent like uhuru’s red undies

peaking out from under her red flight dress, always

ignored by James T., never ever ignored

by me) interrupting, not letting molten metal

of spacestation break through ozone

smashing, crushing, sinking a simple shrimp trawler

on the Oregon coast, whose anchor alarm

had died & the sleeping crew were about

to be awakened by their wrecking on some terrible rocks

& freezing to death in the Pacific before

Coast Guard helicopters could be dispatched    

            (me as boatpuller on trawler

            was spared that tragic role

            in death for apocalypse, for

            pre-empted salvation &

            reruns of bad ½ hr TV sitcoms

            played in unstoppable loops

            as damnation’s true hot pokers

            of incessant, endless torment)

      but there’s no cold

when raygun’s disintegrates matter

      (anti-matter sesame)

no cold with space(d)babe

entering my traitor (trailer)

from her interplanetary light cruiser

like mine’s a moonbase on the verge

like she’s Barbarella on the serge

      (extraterrestrial mini skirt

      or teddy-ish outer-space-suit

      or see-thru breast plate

      or miraculous metallic two piece

like on the promo poster- all

always showing off her legs)

no cold with go-go boots tapping

(or white thigh hi boots clinking)

& her billboard smirk advertising

Free Love for a limited time only        

for a limited time only, just send

a pair of Living Presidents (still

warm & kicking) & two

crisp first class stamps

(my friend, my friend)

the cataclysm is whispering

(my friend) how do I make

rice from mud?

(my friend) how do I get

sexy downloads of Hanoi Jane

w/o her noticing the change

in the material’s dimensions

of my pants?

you know… tent-man

you know, on the merge of supernova…










unsophisticated g-spot bop after Godzilla



(Missy) Molly had a little lamp, little lamp,

little lamp, (Missy) Molly had a little lamp,

it’s wiring was made of…

William S. Burroughs…

its light bulb was… God

zilla,            SO COME!


(Lorraine’s) soap from Japan

loses its protective cover (ing)

(Lorraine’s) fish have been drained

of their soy sauce

      NIPPONese girls acting

SO HIP, SO, you know, seriously,

I know you know, cuz it was just featured

real cool like in one of those hip e-zines

pretendin’ NYC, when built in DELaWARE

      & the girls aren’t models, they

live the lifestyle & act rude like Xers, cuz

they’re Xers, cuz Xers and NEXTers are from

all over the planet, like it’s a community, like, dude,

I seriously feel we’re at Int’l CyberOrgy, SO COME

      right in before Mark Helfrich unveils

his naked pictures of Ex-Girlfriends

in the Eighties

(Missy) Molly says, I bet you’re plum,

stand on your head, turn around,

excited!          SO COME.


(Lorraine’s) soap really likes that scene in Flesh

where Joe Dallesandro’s getting a blowjob as trans

vestite whores, Jackie Curtis & Candy Darling, dissect

common law practices of workable disbelief patterns

      Way before, Joe Dallesandro is naked & in bed

      & getting no action from his wife or her girl

      friend, played by Patti D’Arbinville & Geraldine Smith



hip like    PLUR        like PROMO



TART        like SCHMOOZIK    like PROMO



G.irl), who flaunts herself, flaunts as TARTINE, flaunts

w/ SNEAKER PIMP her quantity, I mean, quality of being club

ster, flaunts her female assets (assuredly wearing g-string),

 flaunts to SNEAKER PIMP her long, insatiable licks over

lollypop’s giving body, exposes quality of being a party girl, ob

sessed, Gutter Girl, obsessed lifts up her hemline,

showing off her knowledge of  PLUR





      Phat, (S)o


after (G)arlic, after (G)-men

have defected to Japan- gee golly

glee Missy Molly


(Lorraine’s [born during Golden

Age of Lesbos Vampyros movies:

Blood and Roses- Vadim

before Barbarella, before Bardot,

with Annette seducing Elsa, with

wife seducing woman]) soap from Japan,

double tied, raked, sand suns, loose

& losing its protective goggles, go

es blind with Beethoven, go

es trip then hop, while (gee golly

glee Missy) Molly’s glitter’d

cheeks & pink eyelids, wedged

‘tweenth boom-doom-zoom (like

crystal wisdom tooth refusing to go)

(‘Tweenth cobwebbed refusal

to smoke, to deluge) proclaim

(like unpopular swimsuit models), nico,

edie, (like pamela hanson’s foto-graphic

nymphetic Runway Girls- who probably suck-

cuz, deep down, all models really suck

& probably all really swallow, too) cost

fifteen minutes I haven’t got, costs

fifteen cents I could otherwise give for a tip, costs

fifteen pages of indiscreet decadence à la 

a writer’s filthy mind I’d rather not part

with        how could we not

be smitten by her rationale?

Glee Golly G(lee)-Spot?


w/o offerings of g-strings, cuz they’re un

comfortable, unremarkable, unavailing

as we gather our paper airplanes, aim

ing them like flat rocks

to be skipped

& somersaults going uphill

upside down


unrelated to g-spots, g-ee g-ollies


& splintered mind spreading up base

‘til the shaft splits me

wide open, forcing me to talk

about anything outside of gutter girl


(Lorraine) leans into the shot,

affirming the moment’s tension:

You’ll have to bring your own soap





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