Doug Draime
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The important words are underlined by Maurice Oliver
Did I ever tell you about the time oil from/ a leaky canister seeped into my thoughts/ then expressed its dissatisfaction with my/ sexual life.
Nonesuch Dreams and Wills by Ray Succre
Her discovery of him will also be gradual/ [X=X+1]; she does not startle anymore./ She has been alive [cavity] before.
He: How we gonna do it?
She: Don’t ask me, you’re the one with the gun
He: Can’t use the gun.
She: Why?
He: Never bought any bullets...visual art centered around one dietary staple
Sometimes Suicidal by Aimee DeLong
Sometimes a suicidal person fixes her hair. Sometimes she looks in the mirror to smooth it. Sometimes she goes four days without washing it.
Last Night at Southport by Justin Hyde
tell her i'm a butterfly
with sixteen wings
beating in
succinct
anarchy.Categorical Imperatives by Maurice Oliver
Try to imagine a small room where the only/ furniture is a TV. The TV has a hundred/ channels and two sets of memories.
1. A canoe full of moose meat
2. Beerwigs
3. The Great Vodka Massacre
4. The Bootlegger & the Professor
5. Puke-O-GramVisual Art by Claudio Parentela
Poverty by Papa Osmubal
I saw a handful of dead cockroaches/ on the floor this morning./ You must have filled the house/ with your endless litany of dammits’ and ‘bullshits’/ while chasing them with last week’s paper/ you borrowed next door for the purpose.
dance a line by Sophia Kidd
i get stuck thinkin' of words/ and meanings of you and of him/ the smell of leaf/ on dirt
Contagion necessaries: sensorial numb by Kenneth Mulvey
reach into pocket/ for a light/ to find I pissed/ myself again
Pamela in the Spring by James DilworthI can't talk in the human way, I tried to learn without success. I could only watch her day after day, as the seasons began to change and the world grew colder.
The lost art of visualization by Andy Riverbed
Now that I think about it;/ I’ve realized I don’t like poetry/ and I don’t like literature; I/ hate movies and music is nauseating;/ my job is a boring mind-/ numb.
A short movie
The Rich Get Richer
It was all the paper he needed,
more than enough to wipe.
After all, it was Beverly Hills,
where the money flowed
as thick and easy as plastic surgery.
He would sell his soul
for paper? Well, probably for much
less - he had a lot
of people fooled.
But it seems he just vanished one day after
fucking his best friend’s wife
on the restroom floor of the
Moose Lodge.
“Happens all the time,” said the
smiling janitor.
“That’s right. I agree”, said the slow
Jack-Off- King, still doing it
in the last stall on the right
The Media Is The Message
The news we hear
and watch
every night on tv
is a lie!
If not an outright lie,
then a distortion
of truth, a spin far
from the core
of reality, spinning
so fast it is a blurred
“reality”.What we see and
hear cannot
be trusted!
What we read in
newspapers cannot be
trusted; news magazines
cannot be trusted, unless they are
denouncing war!
I watch t.v. :
The Discovery channel;
I’m addicted to Jeopardy!
I liked Robert Stack still looking
cool in his late 70’s ,
on Unsolved Mysteries.
I watch South Park
on Comedy Central.
But the news is calculated,
premeditated deceit, way
beyond information and
entertainment.
The news cannot be trusted!
I am telling you the News.
It is my news, and I prefer it
to the government's, thank you,
very much.
Dreams Are Nightmares
In All Political Systems
Your dreams fuel the fear,
and the fear creates the dreams.
So many have died and millions more
will perish, precisely
because of your cowardly complacency.
The flags you fly mean nothing, your
words even less. And trusting your
motivation, is beyond lunacy ...
a horror in and of itself.Wannabe Gunslingers
1.Pistols hung high in the wind
from framed wooden streets. Murder
every direction the blood would
run. U.S. Marshals with hearts
full of demon seed. Beautiful young
whores trained in from Ohio.
2.It was not as vicious as reported, shit no, he just
strolled into the Longbranch,
pulled a .44 and shot Clarence Moran
4 times in the back, as I remember. Shot old man
Moran with a .44 close range. Then he
strolled back out on the street and shot another
feller in the leg. I don’t know ‘bout no
25 gun fights, that he had, (slapping his
leg and laughing) that’s a good one
though, that sure the fuck is a good one!
Vegas Memory
Slide of hand
everywhere in the
blood red
cosmos. A
thousand suns
in the pupils
of your eyes. Blinding
thought
like electric
shock: slamming
it home
in the dark strobe light/
black light
night,
where sly and
blood thirsty
magicians
are kings and
your eyes
bleed the tears
of a fool.
The Mob
He: How we gonna do it?
She: Don’t ask me, you’re the one with the gun
He: Can’t use the gun.
She: Why?
He: Never bought any bullets...From Inside the Cab
He: Where to, lady?
She: State & Dearborn.Somewhere In Las Vegas
He: Where you wanna eat, doll
She: Doesn’t matter to me, fuckface!
Biography
If you don't know Doug Draime by now, you are in need of a good ass-kicking from the litchaos.com staff. He's been in issue 14, 23, 26, 27, 30, and he was the winner of the 2007 Famas Poetry Contest
