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week of April 11 - 17, 2005



R. Eirik Ott and Jerome Davis




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R. Eirik Ott
(aka Big Poppa E.)
eirik@brokenword.org

Bio (auto)

As well-known for his bizarrely-teased haircut as his hit single "The Wussy Boy Manifesto," Big Poppa E was one of the infamous one-hit wonders of the new wave era. Growing out of the synth-heavy and ruthlessly stylish new romantic movement, Big Poppa E was a little too robotic and arrived a little too late to be a true new romantic, but his sleek dance-pop was forever indebted to the short-lived movement. Big Poppa E benefitted considerably from MTV's heavy rotation of the "Wussy Boy" video in the summer of 1982, but he was unable to capitalize on his sudden success and disappeared nearly as quickly as he had rocketed up the charts. He has not been seen in publc since 1987 when he was arrested for public intoxication and vulgarity in Paris. His website is http://www.brokenword.org/, and his online journal can be found at http://poetryslam.livejournal.com/.

The following work is Copyright © 2005, and owned by R. Eirik Ott and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

The Love Song of J. Alfred RickLupert

i want to hold you
like an audience holds its breath
when the trapese artist lets go

i want to kiss your knees so weak
the grassy arms of the world
wrap themselves around you
and press your head
to its loamy bosom

i want to love you
like we'll never be alone
like we're never gonna die
like all that matters
right here and now
is that we can whisper
promises
on the backs
of our necks
and feel them
before we hear them

carved on the roof of my mouth
in a language your tongue alone speaks
is one word:
yes.

i want to drink deeply
the beads of sweat that collect
in the hollows of your hips
and tattoo devotion on your ribs
with my lips in glistening script
etch a trail of tingles
with gentle taps of my tongue
from the base of your neck
to the tip of your spine
until your belly beckons me
in syllables of sighs

i want to read psalms
from your open bible
plant soul kisses
that blossom into heartbeats
on my tongue

you taste just like god

i want the riverbend of your body to blend
with my ebb and flow and grow
to embrace us and engulf us and
send us cascading over
the edge of the bed to the floor
with the sheets and the blankets
as the cats run for the door

i want to press my flesh so tightly against yours
our spines entangle and our blood commingles
and your heart
pounds marimba beats
inside my ribcage

and then i just want to lie there
beneath the glow-in-the-dark stars
on the ceiling
and listen
to the cobalt blue sky
shushing against our windowscreen
as the first bird of morning
clears its throat


Jerome Davis
JeromeDavisUCCS@aol.com

Bio

Jerome Davis was born in 1955 and lived in Chicago until 1991.  He is thee author of a book, "Waiting To Expire: The Incoherent Ramblings of an Inebriated Soul."  Jerome Davis currently lives in Colorado Springs, CO.

The following work is Copyright © 2005, and owned by Jerome Davis and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

if he came back today

he’d be on Barbara Walters
but not BET
if he came back today
he’d have to make a commercial
with Jordan
in order to gain credibility
if he came back today
the stock  market
wouldn’t close
like they do on his birthday
if he came back today
niggers
would still get dragged
behind pickup trucks
would still get shot
22 times
by the police
would still beat each others
brains out
in the name
of his father
if he came back today
he couldn’t get an
audience
with the pope or
Bill Clinton
but I bet
Johnnie Cochran
would see him
if he came back today
nobody
would go to church
and nobody
would get out of jail
or the cemetery
if he came back today
hell would not freeze over
the Cubs would not win
the world series
and you still would
not love me
if he came back today
the most
you might do
is call in
sick
if he came back today
motherfuckers would
be arguing about
who he came to see
did he come to see
the Jews or the Muslims or
the fighting Irish or
the atheists
if he came back today
the Kiowa and the Sioux and the
Apache and the Seminole and the Ute
and the Lakota and the Choctaw
would all say
you ‘bout a late motherfucker
if he came back today
and you had descendants
in any kind of concentration camp
the kind for Jews
or the kind for Japanese Americans
if you had descendants in these
kinds of concentration camps
you would still get your money
but
if he came back today
and your descendants’
concentration camp
just happened to double
as a southern plantation
you still wouldn’t get shit
as a matter of fact
if he came back today
he’d probably tell you
slave progeny
to quit callin’ his
name so much
I mean
shit
it ain’t like
he can’t hear you
if he came back today
he’d have to get on
line
otherwise there’d be
no tangible evidence
that he ever existed
if he came back today
a whole bunch of motherfuckers
would be real mad
because his return means the
world is coming to an end
and they just got on the
waiting list
for season tickets
if he came back today
and gave another
sermon
on another
mount
news organizations
would argue about
the size of the crowd
if he came back today
and said for us to
love one another
a bunch of lawyers would
get together and say
well, what do you mean by “love”
just how is it you define that term
if he came back today
it wouldn’t mean nothing
to nobody except the
meek
‘cause they got a lot comin’
them and the
pure of heart
if he came back today
I could get off
the hook
the next time
one of my grandkids
asks me
what happens
when
we
die
I can just
say
ask
him

Death of a Mauve Bat! | Sinzibuckwud! | We Put Things In Our Mouths | A Man With No Teeth Serves Us Breakfast
I'd Like to Bake Your Good | Stolen Mummies| Brendan Constantine is My Kind of Town | Up Liberty's Skirt | Feeding Holy Cats | Mowing Fargo
I'm a Jew, Are You
| Lizard King of the Laundromat
| I Am My Own Orange County | Paris: It's The Cheese | Poetry Super Highway
Rick's Bookmarks |
Cobalt Poets | E-mail Rick | Upcoming Readings | Who The Hell Is Rick