james w. moore

i believe

SOURCE: King, Stephen. The Long Walk. New York, NY: Gallery, 2016. 80. Print.
Photo by james w. moore

 

 

Oh

you last,

rotting empty electric tomatoes

with murders,

with raving mad porcelain ears,

where written, questioned

 

Oh, you mamas,

driving it

 

outgrown looks here

over years wept

broken wheel of feet

of ice cream shakes and looking in

 

eyes got years

that’s it:

the red

 

Oh, crashing airless,

gonna, gotta

 

train crammed before you

(you, that corpse hanging)

a feel in your please walls

the blues you own

so lonely

 

Oh

SOURCE: Lyrics from the following David Bowie songs: “Five Years,” “Always Crashing in the Same Car,” “Oh, You Pretty Things,” and “You Feel So Lonely You Could Die”

 

 

an insult (in three parts)

I.

 

weakest nasty with

pathetic Super Bowl ad

to bring in mommy

bottom (gone) top (a lot)

puppet, puppet

(if he can’t manage a tiny person

you can provide  a secure pyramid)

get it?

 

all of time

totally flawed

lost like a dog

on so many levels

 

one reformer

behind my back

zero, zero, zero

so easy

 

II.

 

a dog catcher ran to Kentucky

chugging water in the minds of desperate people

ten cents on a rock disaster

of inappropriate heads

uncomfortable looking

in order to make a face

about me but

about me begging

for a life

 

so don’t watch,

don’t watch good TV

all talk, talk, talk last

& no action

just not getting to do the right thing

so awkward and goofy

a part of the love

a gym rat who touches my sleepy eyes

 

see how that turned out?

 

 

III.

 

don’t believe a deadpan child

every one of those

waste hostile nonsense on

ineffective slaughter of fictitious

terms starved by yourself,

not very good

able to define a word for the public:

fabricate –

to be the most close to death

 

an ever-dwindling scam

without us,

gone

a paper tiger

ripped by a killing machine

a direct profile of

the most rambling

terrible, terrible, terrible (and boring)

like so much else

phony, a joke, phony

Sampled from “The 410 People, Places and Things Donald Trump Has Insulted on Twitter: A Complete List” as compiled by the New York Times

 

 

SOURCE: A Supposedly Funny Thing I’ll Never Do Again by David Foster Wallace

 

 

 

 

james w. moore is a poet and playwright living in Burlington, VT. he is the author of two found poetry collections – I Am the Maker of all sweetened possum and Rotary 23. His plays have been performed in Portland (OR), Seattle (WA), and Burlington (VT). His work has been featured on Vermont Edition, as well as in the Houston Chronicle, Silver Birch Press, and Found Poetry Review.