I love it when poet Abbie Normal sends me emails. I especially love it when she sends me emails with new poetry in them. Which brings us to what’s below: “Automatic Weapon One” and “Automatic Weapon Two” by my favorite poet. Enjoy. -J.
“Automatic Weapons One” by Abbie Normal
Race of thieves, ripped out eyes, suck suck goes the poison. Blanched face immaculate torn to ribbons. Eating whatever’s in sight. The flow of mucus like the Rio Grande. Hate of green. Love of red. Tonsils twitch waiting for the scalpel. The earth roars. The lion’s dead in the MGM studio, prop for an old b movie. Where is love, Christ? Where is love?
The flame spits hopeful on my altar. Lighting hope of faith or survival. Cigarette and cigarette. My rosary slippery between my fingers and opposable thumb. Rip rip rip. The night like sewer. Hate is overtaking. What is it winning? Calloused feet rub like doves. The feet are waiting for the march, a thin line that may never come. Where is love, Christ? Where is love?
Artery gunshot. The bullets piss from the ocean, the opposite of growth. High on nicotine and coffee. The slugs pummel drool of doorways. Spit spit the sky. Torch the sky. Praise the sky. Tears streaming down my face, hopeless and helpless. I pray to Mary, intercede before cataclysm. Your son is slumped like a drunk against a crucifix bus stop. The fire, Elohim, the fire. Where is love Christ? Where is love?
Weeping now, Goddess, middle aged belly sour. My skull crushed by gravity. Having trouble breathing. Choke of cloud, snivel of gore. Hate the man who rules. When will we have Satan behind us, never for he is within us. This terror, this constant terror. Out of the mind is out of my mind. Hyperventilating. Gasping. The fish and bread are not enough to feed us all. When will we SCREAM Elohim? Where is love Christ, where is love?
“Automatic Weapons Two” by Abbie Normal
Slouching toward defeat, tears like snot on a rain splattered leaf. Eat the poison. Eat the apple. Knowledge like shame and crotch covered with fig leaves. What do you want to teach me, Eve? Adam was a coward, only you tamed the serpent. Rickety old porch memories, binge of joy and pain. The stomach sour, throat choked with ash. Dollars slipped under mattresses of the swine. They’ll eat you alive, your screams like mating calls. I’ve never defended this country with a gun. Does that make me a coward? Yes. I’ve defended liberty with a pen. Does that make me a coward? Yes.
Blue skies with airplane wounds. The sirens screech every fifteen minutes. Gated community. High rise building. The twin towers of high desert. Pictures hang the walls with nooses, what the subject is I’m unsure. Why do I hate, Elohim? Because I am a human.
Reading and rereading the books of the old testament. They had some good points, now used for murder. Catering to my dog’s wishes I grip her shit with my right hand, cigarette in the other. The darkness of a fall day. Walt Whitman was the only true American poet. I ripped that off from another writer. My opinions the same as everybody else’s. Reading Proust, not caring if I finish it. Hands type, heart relaxes. My girlfriend interrupts with her jolly demeanor, and the narcissism is tamed for a bit. I hate a lot of people. My mother tried to tame this out of me, but I never learned my lesson. She always suggested I read the book of Job. And three decades later I am stilled covered in boils.
Country music blurts from a plastic microchip, or maybe a metal microchip, I don’t know a thing about science and don’t really care. Artaud beckons. I will not follow in his footsteps. The theatre of cruelty is all around. I don’t have to write a new play, or make a painting or write a poem. But I will, until the apple is stuffed in my mouth like a pig’s corpse resting before the king. I’ll spit it dead in his eye.