excerpt from:
An Extraordinary of Warmth
He had been discarded
like some discarded shell casing
now spent and collecting space
unconscious in no particular
place or position
the door opened
and in his father walked
rendered immune to this knowledge
to the present condition
‘Marco, Marco’
A stir and a cough
from some discarded pile of laundry
Marco withdraws_
dozens of small shining metallics
litter the present
’What are these?’
(A Question…so soon)
THOSE, THOSE ARE DRUGS DAD
(all you need is a devise to catch
the lurid, lucid, elusive gases
*a balloon, and sealed opener/strainer
the laughing gas is then held prisoner
to be administered, not unlike a doctor
or dentist….to seal a certain blockage)
They soon leave
after smoking two cigarettes together
they surrender for breakfast.
|
Hot outside, cold down here, where I write, where I write my words, words and nonsense, nonsense and words, nonwords, wordsense, I write purely for profit, purely for the profit of my limbic system a thing they sometimes confuse for the soul, I write for the profit of one or two good eyes to chuckle once or twice from what the see, I profit from making someone think once, I profit from giving someone an idea if only briefly and if only for the etch a sketch, I profit from disturbing the uninitiated.
I forget my age when I write, I forget Im a man, I forget Im a human, I am just a device that batters together strange symbols that someone told me is a word, a sentence, a paragraph.
I don't care for rules or oppression, I don't care for the unscrupulous that flock about me or for the places they eat and swim.
I am just another thing this universe shat out as it did all things and one day it will swallow me back up as it does all things and when this happens I will again be gone.
scott draGOO, marco maisto and
BC aka Paul Gidding participate
in readings regularly in Iowa City.
click to view |
Wood Magazine
debut
October 2002
email for info! |
| 
Scott C. Dragoo
|
|
