Poems by new ULAer Marissa Ranello
Five Hour Booty Call
I will make you feel my sand dollared tongue.
As it enters your mouth, I will spoon the sloppy syllables
that fall from your lips like baby words,
gravitate them back to you.
That can become a grin, if you let it
I can not communicate my feelings.
I'm an anti-social socialist with agoraphobia
your five hours away
I'm an anti-social socialist with
your five hours
I'm an anti-social socialist
I'm an anti-social
five hour booty call with agoraphobia
Shaolin Mexicano Mainfesto
they sell fortune cookies
in the mexican joint on port richmond ave.
all i wanted was a taco
no make taco
there were times when ed koch ate here
i bet he got a taco
instead i get a pint of pork fried rice
with a surprise inside
clothespin in the middle of my rice
Juan has been using a clothespin
to keep his hair tied back every day since '98
and now a small part of him
is in the center of my pork fried rice
Lucky numbers: 21 43 16 28 14 05
Unraveling Blue Afghan
But the sky won't last forever;
radio active isotopes
will shoot down
when spring shoots up
between my tits:
we'll bask in all
for my next coming.
Oh, we'll sing!
No, the sky won't
unraveling blue afghan.
Never were you comforting.
itchy stainless steel
mirror of dermatitis,
the bouncing ball
that did me in.
Sardonic Broken Angel
Tired wings unfold
strategically bound together
by piano wire.
Out of tune,
of impenetrable silence.