Hello, Adventures Blogheads! This week we have a very exciting treat for you. Couple weeks ago we served up a yummy Stir-Fry Brass Horse, but with names like Simonelli and Ranello, we've got to turn this blog into an Italian Deli just once. So, like my dear Grandma Rosie, i will set you a place at the table and force you to eat Parroove Sandwich!
Now, what the funk is Parroove Sandwich, you ask? Like Grandma Rosie i smack you upside the head and wash your mouth out with soap, for swearing. Then, i hug you, kiss your cheeks, and teach you about this strange world we live in. Parroove Sandwich, my dears, is a dramatic monologue/sci-fi story by Tom Hendricks, nestled between two Frank Walsh sonnets.
If this doesn't satisfy your appetite for strange and energetic low-carb lit, then you are a gluttonous bastid, and just the kind of person we love around Grandma Rosie's Kitchen. Oh, and around the Adventures Blog too. Bless your fat little hearts, and enjoy!
KRISHNAMURTI IS THE ICING ON THE MOON-PIE
(An homage to L=A=N=G-U=I=S=H poetry)
by Frank Walsh
She said she thought the drummer who
pilots a SEPTA bus now and back
in the ‘80’s raped a dominatrix
according to the dominatrix but at least
not the same one, jerks off while he talks
to her on the phone, you got to be
joking I said into my phone,
not the same phone, but I’d hope
he swabs the receiver down
with alcohol if it’s a public pay phone.
It’s not serious, it’s only a commercial,
a movie sequel, a stuffed dodo, a nervous
tick not brought on by sanctions until now
against the children for over eleven years.
Parroove by Tom Hendricks
Some trade often and never leave. This place is... kills many, exhilarates all!
Frank Walsh Sonnet #2...
You poet can afford to take death,
birth, and love for granted, so
grow up and get with it, deepen,
there’s not much time to let
the others in on it, strike
up some deal with vigilance and urgency.
Everybody else wants to but is much too busy.
You’re an escape artist, you only feel trapped.
You deserve it, sleep, sleep on your back
with a brick-bat under the pillow.
Wash your skin, comb your tongue, cut your nose
off despite your face, she wants you down by five.
But the ears, keep the ears just as they are
like your last two bits, like a dirty old rabbit’s foot.
Frank Walsh sez: ..."was at the annual 100 Posers Read
at Robbins Bookstore a week ago this past Sunday which I participated in for better or for worse. I read stuff among them were these two sonnets from my century of the form, SONNETS WITHOUT BORDERS." Email: firstname.lastname@example.org