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.