The Gorko Gazette

Hi ♥ Lorenzo!

Realize the Net won’t save you!
—Advance token two squares.
Ever listen to a Light Bulb? Ever dream
you’re falling UP the cellar stairs?

If I wake before I die, stick a finger
in God’s eye. I am the King of Stare.
I can look right through you
until you’re no longer there.

Whoops!—there goes another
Lego City. There goes concavity
in a vexed mirror. Revolutions
#12 and 33. Smash the Wall with

Mr. T! I pity the Kool-Aid! Pity the Sea!
How pretty the Titty that gives suck
to thee! I love you or I do not love
me. I am the least and most burdened

of beasts. I am Man-Thing! Born of muck.
Someday I’ll come like a fire truck
wailing at your door, the past wrapped
into a present: ‘One and one is More!’

---

Salvation

Billy Karnash in the 5th grade,
known as the human pencil
sharpener, uses the alphabet stencil
to trace out a four-letter word. Fade

to blackboard: Sister Scholastica turning
the ‘T’ of ‘Time’ into a bloody cross.
She conjures darkness, imminent burning,
Satan’s victory, our soul’s eternal loss.

She pulls a tissue like magic from the black
sleeve of her habit, blots her eyes, red and hot,
her inflamed brow. And I am sweating a lot
by now, and look tensely about the room. Zach

Page, back row, sleeps. Stacy Baron secretly reads
a folded note between her knees. With a low laugh,
Billy frees yellow flecks from his crooked teeth,
left hand limns T-Rex biting a fearful nun in half.

---

Rhymes With Me

My ex is still in love with me.
Or maybe the other way around.
Even as a child, I drew happy faces
with all the smiles upside down.

I count seconds by the minute.
My slow hand is stuck on 1.
Most people are in it to win it.
I’m in it just for fun. The finishing

gun. Besides, I jiggle head-to-toe
like a plate of Jell-o when I run.
You need a seismograph to limn
my outline, Sunshine. Say Hello

if you want some. Every turncoat
gets it twice. A game of cutthroat
going thrice. I burn a body brown.
Selling flesh tones by the pound.

---

My Dream Is to Write a Long, Endless Poem in My Sleep

Rolling the world between tips
of index finger and thumb,
Punk Monk loafs aloof,
lifts his head aloft,
licks his lips &
laughs aloud:
‘Booger!’

Me: ‘Every time I
wake up
and I’m not made
of sugar.’

---

About the artist

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Image: Teatro CPFL – No Natal a gente vem te buscar em Louveira (4370665948).jpg