Š 2011 by David Tomaloff NAP CHAP 3 NAP Magazine & Books Indianapolis, IN NAPLITMAG.COM Cover by Miles Donovan www.thedailyrobot.com
A SOFT THAT TOUCHES DOWN &REMOVES ITSELF David Tomaloff
“...the bodies have their own light which they consume to live: they burn, they are not lit from outside.” —Egon Schiele
SOME SCENES, YOU DON’T MASTER milk is the new cherry, I said blasting yellow piñata all over the shore whatever sees you best, I said my heart made eyes and left her a mark why do you want for alligator stories so much, I said— I warned of impending direction, &immediately broke for the door I had dreams I could make it with a sucker punch; you could say “phantom!” and I could say “next!” the women have strange names, I said the trucks, I said, they come by here all the time
MOHAWK SIDEBURN ATTACHMENT KIT caterpillars look great on you, I said— caterpillars are the new butterfly don’t be an idiot she said— as if she’d already begun to build her cocoon
THESE ARE A RITUAL The dirges were all villages; we melted them into lead we burned them all down, I said— to make way for the “us” where is ever the option, the seas to wash it all away; the sins, I said— surely, you don’t think they will ever look for us here it’s all wrong, she said what, I asked, is wrong? the service and the wine, she said— it really isn’t your best disguise
HONEY, IS THAT ELVIS? the quarters go there— into the slot, I said the joysticks turned and mocked me; I had no idea there were two these ribs are delicious in harmony my singing settles into the corner booth and reaches over to undo your tie windows give me dreams, she said— the kind that come with sucker punches and faces I can’t return
NOTHING IS CORRECT ok, who put that there, she said— the stupid yellow mark she was pointing to the sun my embarkment lacked saint wherewithal; in full transistor glory, I mentioned her mistake that mark is no mark, I said— we barely made it home later, a pizza &words in a room that’s an awful lot of stuck, she said I said, what you see is the price of doing business with the moon
TROUBLE HAS A LANGUAGE every third Friday, we’ll supersize the kids; they’re our only real hope, she said, in trying to keep warm winter is a thief, I said— I didn’t, just then, dare to mention what was really in my heart: if the rain had caught fire this very instance, if the fire had caught fire this very day, I’d be content to dance under foot of it as long as “I” and “you”
MY SECOND SHRUG OF THE AFTERNOON what is the opposite of cotton, she said— she pointed at telephone wires dated nineteen &thirty-six it was a question I hadn’t heard in a while nothing, I said— we stopped for a pint of lust where is your wallet— your spare rib, she said, &don’t tell me you left it back in nineteen &thirty-six
AFTER HORS D’OEUVRES I pulled a party from the cost of privacy; the lights mysteriously dimmed a bit, but I liked the way it felt I like the way this feels, I said— unaware my eyes had been dancing with my tongue but not my cheek 3/4 beat boys make strange lovers, she said— she barely had it all the way out, though, before the drums dropped a plate of grenades
STEREO COMPONENTS what’s the new dance? she said it again; though, these were not our children I cannot say, I said—&didn’t the song began to pine and lament it’s loaning to a spent friend, I whispered—I held out my hand &we put the children to bed in some circles lay monsters, I lay thinking— some circles are pennies &woofer cones and amps
IS THERE LIFE ON MARS? nothing has seen me this way in years, the bartender said— he tried on his brand new shirt-wig it suits me, he said he was right; it did a hot pink influence waltzed up and down my brainstem it couldn’t be the newsboy; I’d remember him, I thought what if what I thought was me was never really me at all, &the real me was currently watching this me from some planet far, far away oh my goodness, I said— I think I’m in love
THIS HYPOTHETICAL SHORE I often touch the ground like this before I’m off to sea librarians don’t do this, I said— they have no desire to even try brass pirate’s knuckles were the trend among men who were getting their feet wet you understand me well, I said— now, help us out to sea remarkable the sky this day, I said, as if no one were around but no one really is around, I said &that’ll do me just fine
MISS AMERICA I miss America you miss a lot of things, she said— I’m really going to Kansas this time; I’m no longer putting it off the doorbell laughed as a package was delivered I’m not surprised at all, she said— I was glad we were still intact hotdogs and pipe bombs are delicious in mixed company my only regret, I said— is that we don’t have them more
IT’S ALWAYS JULY I’m always doing things like it’s the middle of December let’s fornicate a riot, I said— we asked for the check &left how many people have actually seen the Godfather trilogy, I absent-mindedly pondered, almost walking into a door there was a museum in my heart; I had season passes on indefinite hold I’d walked by from time to time, but never bothered to go in
I SAID I WASN’T SURE why do you go on like that? like what, I asked— I leaned in attentively with one eye on the door sometimes you speak like Alcatraz, she said— the fact that things should not escape doesn’t always mean they don’t you know, there were never any executions there, I said— trying to make a point so what’s your point, she said
RECOVERY sometimes I feel like this on holidays get the mayor on the phone, I said— I’m calling in the National Guard the american franchise is dead; though, I don’t say it isn’t a zombie make sure you get something to eat, she said—I was reaching for my keys good fiction holds a map to the minefields of the human condition they have truck-stops in Virginia, she said— I said I knew because I have seen them in dreams
IMAGINARY SNOW good morning, commander! today will be my day every day should have a purpose, she said— then I’m calling this one “desire” I thought I heard it snowing last night, I said— with cocked head and shot upper lip there is enough of too much of a bad good thing, she said— I thought, it’s way too early for this
WHY I’M USELESS, No. 3 there was a great clatter in the yard it sounded like the garden was rebelling it sounds like the garden is rebelling, she said— I said, I can hardly blame it in this cold have you seen the magic in those birds, she said— I had. I said, I have I don’t think it was there the last time we were here, she said. I said, maybe you just weren’t looking if you have something to say, she said, why don’t you just say it I would, I said, if I could remember what it was
YIN & YANG that mime cheated; he was never actually in a box, I said— I held my finger in an upright position, indicating my furious indignation I don’t remember some of my best dreams, she said how do you know they’re yours, I said— she said, I know because you’re there if you think about it, cars are actually quite silly; all that smog and to do, she said— with so very little much to offer wait. back up. what am I doing there, I asked I was somewhat interested in what I was potentially accomplishing as she slept
you swim and stop the bullets, she said— which never make it to my heart of course, it’s just a dream, she said & in dreams, the guns don’t actually work
USING HYPERBOLE what are you reading? it’s my horoscope, I said the ocean tells dirty jokes, she said I said, you should hear it play guitar there is no nonsense like the nonsense in my heart, I said— snows fall on mars, I said as well as on the ocean floor really, she said snow under the sea? it’s not real snow, I said it’s poetic license of sorts I should know that by now, she said— I agree, I said— she really should
MY BABY, SHE’S A PHILOSOPHER low flying planes make me uncomfortable, she said— I’m afraid they’ll get stuck there &never come down you can’t have an answer for everything, I said— we waited nine minutes for a lumbering train to pass look at him there, she said— yes, I said, aviation is wonderful the last drunken train car hobbled off; I wondered if the plane had ever come down
MY BABY, SHE’S A LOT OF THINGS I messed with this for you; it’s a hive of honey bees she looked uneasy though, she managed to play it off there are fault lines in my thoughts at night, I said— that explains the earthquakes, she said, I feel in my dreams I didn’t mean it like that, I said— she said she knew we stayed awake &laughed until the sun rose
David Tomaloff (b. 1972) | is a writer, photographer, musician, and all around bad influence | likes: jazz | hates: jazz | photography: yes | like you, he is perplexed to consider that he is simply the product of a multitude of both internal and external exerting functions acting in or out of concert at a given time or accumulated over an unspecified period | his work has appeared in fine publications such as Mud Luscious, >kill author, Thunderclap!, HOUSEFIRE, Prick of the Spindle, DOGZPLOT, elimae, and many more. He is the author of the chapbooks, Olifaunt (The Red Ceilings Press), EXIT STRATEGIES (Gold Wake Press) and MESCAL NON-PALINDROME CINEMA (Ten Pages Press) | David Tomaloff resides in the form of ones and zeros at: davidtomaloff.com