INTERVIEW WITH A GANG MEMBER WHO TAGGED THE GOJO DISPENSER IN THE MEN’S LAVATORY.

They were dissing our soap, man! That’s where we

prevent translation that’s where we tantalize our hands!

Beholden that pink liquid all over the floor—or viewing

those big foaming bubbles in the sink: it’s obvious

they didn’t need to expense that much cleanser—

so I asked my Best Girl Forever (not my Best Girl & not

my Girl Forever) “lemme hold some nail polish maneuver”

& she gave me some maneuver called Wite Out though

I never saw her w/ Wite nails. It smelled like Elmer’s.

(I smelled it a while.) So, yeah, I nerved the script a bit

I meant to cribbage ‘Soap 2 Yo Mama’ but it goes

‘Soup 2 Yo Llama’ still it supplements & warns them—

the next time they go to the Men’s Laboratory better act

fictitious or we gonna mix clean & dirty Ace 4 Ace!

[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #30 of 30. Finis!]

INTERVIEW WITH A NUDIST WHO HAS NEVER BEEN UNDRESSED BY ANYBODY'S EYES.

I waited for the bus so long—my transfer expired.

When the bus finally arrived a radicalized youth

chucked a rock at it (clank!) & it swerved into traffic.

“Young Man!” I shouted but he glared at me in a way

that knocked my body out of my body & I witnessed

50 vibrations of my own ruddy countenance before

the grand lens refocused itself—I walked beneath

the dirtiest of oaks, the nuttiest of silver clouds.

People should be playing coital instead of playing coy.

(Who was that Barbara Streisand character? Coit’l?)

How does the eye slip a button through a buttonhole?

How does the eye unzip the zipper, tooth by tooth?

A nudist can be undressed twice, same as you & you.

There are two tempers to each person; both are bare.

[NaPoWriMo Interview Sonnet #29.]

INTERVIEW WITH THE TENANT OF APARTMENT 704 WHO WOULD LIKE TO HAVE A WORD WITH THE SUPERINTENDANT.

I tried to go down but the elevator went up—

that’s not my gripe! You probably noticed

the plaster in my hair? I didn’t put no plaster in my hair!

When I woke up this morning it was bright outside.

All the little song sparrows was in the same little tree

as if the tree was jabbering & flapping on its own.

‘All right!’ I thought. ‘Yessir!’ I thought.

‘Today’s the day!’ I thought. ‘Been waiting!’ I thought.

‘I got my whole life in front of me!’ I thought,

lying there, in bed, glistening in my own glory

when the very peacefulness of my vision tore & the very

concepts of foundation & solidity tore in two &

the gut-damn ceiling came down—WET—all over me!

The hell is a Man if all I’ve got . . . is a Complaint!


[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #28.]

INTERVIEW WITH A WORK-RELEASE PRISONER WHO HUNGERS FOR A LOW-CARBON FOOTPRINT.

That’d help me w/ a getaway, correct?

although I’d hardly be lamming it barefoot—

—well—can I get a low-carbon footprint

in Asics or New Balance or Adidas?

& what about a low-carbon fingerprint?

that way, I could help myself to a few staples

(wallets, smart phones, laptops, etc.)

w/o implicating myself via CSI scenarios—

—well—I wonder if I’d need to water

my carbon footprints & fingerprints

to hydrate them, to carbohydrate them—

I work the highway & watch cubicle staffers

drive by in hybrids—if the world’d get

any quieter—well—it just might disappear.


[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #27.]

INTERVIEW WITH THE WORKER IN CHARGE OF RAISING AND LOWERING THE FLAG.

I am recruit from Job Fair next to hamburger parlor

they engage me in tug of war contest first w/ large dog

then w/ team of shot-putter then w/ Volkswagen Beetle—

Beetle is very tough—I let go from rope & he drive car

into tower that say “Family Bail Bond: Bail Bond For

When Whole Family Go To Jail At Same Arrest” but

he is all right—man in Beetle—he become Under Boss

I have two boss in same office: Under Boss & Over Boss

Under Boss tell me when flag to be half-mast & Over Boss

when to raise flag full—one day they fight a big fight about

television game where athlete make idiot-type mistake

Under Boss fall on top of Over Boss & knock out his wind

I love your country I am not from your country, my arm

grow strong as Rust Ox from constant tug of life & death!

[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #26. Too, see: American History 101.]

INTERVIEW WITH A FLYING ELVIS IMPERSONATOR BEFORE HIS FIRST JUMP.

I’m all shook up but I ain’t in love—

I got to step outta this airplane, man!

the real Elvis didn’t have to deal w/

no 32-foot-per-second drop & how it’d

bust up his pompadour & blow off his

sunglasses & severely crimp his jewels

he spent most of his life on Earth, man!

the truth is—I didn’t know nothin’

about no jump over no Double A stadium

I don’t want to drift off into the BBQ!

some of these fellas are paratroopers

from wars, like, a long long time ago—

it’s how Elvis woulda looked, man,

flying toward a baseball game in his 90s!

[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #25.]

INTERVIEW WITH THE REHAB PATIENT OF THE MONTH.

Who has a ‘nocturnal emission’

while lying on his back?—Sensational!—

I must’ve been dreaming of Substance

or plentiful heap of Substance b/c

no humpy the mattress no pillow humpy

oh, why this affliction couldn’t be part-time

then, you know, I could ride the ‘Hobby Horse’—

“sike!” I always add for my “psych”

b/c she gets a little too philo-physical but

I thank her for my mug shot on the bulletin board

lotsa little honeys giving me the ol’ over-shoulder—

bless the Pharaohs when it comes to rubbers

I tell the honeys “I’m a Ramses man

b/c I don’t want you—to become a Mummy!”

[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #24.]

INTERVIEW WITH LADY BUG JOHNSON.

Beg pardon, man, but there are all kinds of Ladies!

Lady Di. Lady Day. Lady Bird. Guess there’s Larry Bird &

Big Bird, too. Lots of Birds. See this picture? That’s me

in my polka dot plastic blouse w/ the polka dots you-know-

where-hoo. Johnson’s not my real name, no, not at the moment.

On occasion I fancy that I’m the Lady who Lyndon B

passed up: Lyndon B & Lady Bug 4ever! 2gether! 6cess!

I like to describe my age as Advanced & my condition as Fair.

Do you know the Lady Bug?, it’s my dance, I still do it,

arms out like a hoot, hands on yr knees, make you see spots!

In regard to Lady Bird—did she eat seed? Did she have wings?

A beak? Beg pardon, man, but there are all kinds of Ladies!

I go as Ladybug, I go as Lady Bug, I sprinkle nutmeg

like a liberal, but a pinch, even on a glass of Sweet Lucy.

[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #23. Too, see The Looks Dept.]

INTERVIEW WITH A MEMBER OF THE BACHELORETTE PARTY WHO PLAYED DESDEMONA IN HER COLLEGE'S PRODUCTION OF OTHELLO.

No, I am not some kind of hammock which

men climb into & enjoy a swing, hey

believe me I’ve heard all the “Desdemoaner” jokes

how rumor placed me and Brabantio in the green room

but if anybody I’d’ve gone for Emilia (now she

was hot!) (rubbing extra virgin olive oil into her tresses)

how’d that line go? “not to pick bad from bad”?

well, the bachelorette is the one w/ the “bachelorette”

sash & crown & junk above the junk in the trunk

(you didn’t hear that from me) & when it’s time for

the group photo just watch these girls thrust

their muffin tops into slutty shapes (“squashy do me!”)

as if they know about the whispers men whisper

& trust—ahead of anything else, at all.


[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #22. Too, see MacBeth, Explained.]

INTERVIEW WITH A GUEST AFTER A DISAPPOINTING APPRAISAL ON ANTIQUES ROADSHOW.

Yes, they pat me w/ Talcum Pancake
they spray aerosol about my head &
the fellow in the headset hustles me
to the table where sits Granny's Item
I wait one-two, I wait two-three, I wait
until the expert has been debriefed?
(others w/ clipboards shushing what
to the expert's ruddy befuddlement
until he claps his hands--er--ready &
establishes himself in groaning chair)
o, he wields the wooden pointer, o, he
taps Granny's Item w/ historical data
but his "auction estimate" of 5 to 7K
would curdle Granny's blue blood!


[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #21. Blogged mobile.]

INTERVIEW WITH A BARFLY WHO WORRIES ABOUT IDENTITY THEFT.

I know a gal from Baltimore

she’s blessed—anatomically—

she has Baltimore Aureoles

oh! I gotta (hic) (hic) (hiccough)

(hic) I got this thing down

my proper stance astraddle the stool

the way I scribble (hic) in the air

there’s a Pomeranian in the ATM

oh! I gotta (hiccough) (hic)

(hic) (hic) of all the breeds you’d

stuff in there w/ the money—

& the information—it’s in ATMs

all over town that Pomeranian

(hic) the things it knows!


[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #20.] 

INTERVIEW WITH AN AMATEUR HISTORIAN WHO INSISTS THAT THE UNION AND THE CONFEDERACY ENGAGED IN THE BATTLE OF BEER RUN.

Okay so two squads—one Blue, one Gray—
are sent out w/ little or no equipment, this much
we know & we also know that, upon return,
both were meant to be lugging enough suds
for their respective platoons—one Blue, one Gray—
(& we’re told several bags of peanuts & jerky)
but they never reach the brewery, curiously enough,
they encounter each other in Deep Appalachian Wood
& this is where The Literature leaves off, just how
this Battle of Beer Run was prosecuted among these
six or seven per side—some Blue, some Gray—
did they clap each other with little shovels, did they
throw each other’s uniforms up in the spruces &
leave them bare, beer-less & oddly hopeful?

 

[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #19.]

INTERVIEW WITH A SEVENTH DAY ADVENTURIST.

Folks misunderstand us as whitewater rapids
shooters, dinghy freakazoids & rock wall
jocks w/ little regard for Mono Deity but no—
opposite—tubing,  triathlon & bungee jumping
would be a debauch by our standards, too &
instead we are a group of urban worshippers
who choose a new temple or church or mosque
every Seventh Day—that is our Adventurism
we believe that Mono Deity intended for Man
& Woman to have a weekly Spiritual Adventure
admittedly the membership fees get weighty
(some Mono Deity charges more than other
Mono Deity) but I’ve seen the halo in Hebrew
& Latin & Amharic & Arabic & Plain Slang!


[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #18. Too, see: Postmodern Tentacle Liturgy.]

INTERVIEW WITH AN ANIMAL CONTROL OFFICER WHO MUST RESPOND TO A CALL CONCERNING THE PRESENCE OF AN UNWANTED LUPUS.

Does one say Lupusses or Lupi
if one has to keep track of more than one?
(I hope it’s a single Lupus.) Where’s the Lupus?
Kind of like Where’s the party?
only it’s hardly a party, it’s a Lupus.
The Lupus is not a simulation.
The Lupus is not a taxidermy.
I hope the Lupus is not very Lupussy.
Performing Lupus de Lupus
at the circus in an airplane or a bicycle.
I need to know—its general whereabouts—
—& leanings—& vaccination record—
b/c I need to keep some very important people
(I mean supervisors) in the Lupus!

 

[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #17. Too, see: The Problem of the Chow Chow.]

INTERVIEW WITH A FRIEND OF ANATOLIAN CULTURE WHO NAMED HIS DOG "THE TURK"

What about a business where you’d sell

low seats & footstools only

that is, Ottomans

imagine a sprawling warehouse &

loud commercials on local TV channels ‘til

you gobble up the entire footstools &

low seats market, I’d call it—Ottoman Empire—

excuse me a second: HEY! NO!

come here YESH!

did you try to eat the cactus bird?

who’s the fishbreath are you the fishbreath?

who wears the dogsuit do you wear the dogsuit?

who’s The Turk are you The Turk?

Atta Turk! Atta Turk!

[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #16.]

INTERVIEW WITH DANISH KRONER.

I am looking for the warm wine

I was told “Come, come! we’ll serve warm wine

& there will be many kippered fish, too”

please point me toward the kippered fish

I confess ignorance of this tradition where

a common egg is apparently pickled

(purple) & kept in a large jar w/ many purple eggs

does each partygoer receive a pickled food item

before the sing-along? b/c

there might be quite a delay as guests are

seated at the table according to name cards

invariably a partygoer will remark &

I will respond: Yes that is my Christian Name &

no, I am not aware of the prevailing exchange rate!

[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #15.]

INTERVIEW WITH A VOLUNTEER WHO JUST WANTS TO GIVE BACK TO THE COMMUNITY.

Where is the Look Sea?
Is that around here?
I don't remember a gulf of that vantage.
Oh, what are people saying!
That dude at the Rec Center was full of it!
Carrying on about the Invisigoths. Pfff.
All the Goths I know--are visible.
The gals--in their black lipstick?
Hey, wait a minute: is it KFC-Wendy's
or BK-Taco Bell or IHOP-HoJo's?
My physician said, "Keep up your lifestyle
& you'll wind up w/ a long hitch in
Sciatica Prison w/o payroll."
That is not primary care!


[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #14. Blogged mobile.]

INTERVIEW WITH THE RECIPIENT OF A WET WILLIE.

I like things that squeak—

chicken on the spit, for ex. or

a faulty sneaker or a weeble wobble

kind of chippie—i.e., external &

what about a Product to remedy

the arrival of an unwelcome finger

such as a Groucho nose & spectacles

(never mind cigar chopper) tho

how to remedy unwanted moisture

eh? as if Aveeno would team up w/

Beano & we’d get Abeano—

a crème that’d mitigate the funk

of a dire squeak (hmmm) but

until that day: Vigilance!

[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #13.]

INTERVIEW WITH A PENSIONER WHO SUFFERS FROM CARPAL TUNNEL SYNDROME.

Re: The Caper: No, I was not the one who

heaved the breaded fish platter (The Diversion)

amid the Society of Beatific Smilers

but the one who Stole Into the room marked

“Authorized Personal Only” (sic) &

ransacked noisily w/ Brief Window of Opportunity

that’d frighten anybody but he steeped in

The Caper Lifestyle: Vitamin D Compliments

Cucumber Eyepatches & Slappy Overgarments: No,

don’t think of China if China isn’t thinking of you &

your syndromes, like, the one where you ride

w/ a group of ouchy-wrist sufferers underground—

a veritable Carpool Tunnel Syndrome & why

does pain tunnel but to avoid its own shame.

[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #12.]

INTERVIEW WITH A CRITIC OF THE SONG "MY SHARONA"

DUNNUH NUNNUH nuh nuh

nuh nuh nuh nuh MY DIPLOMA!

DUNNUH NUNNUH nuh nuh

nuh nuh nuh nuh MY CORONA!

DUNNUH NUNNUH nuh nuh

nuh nuh nuh nuh MY PERSONA!

When you gonna NUNNUH nuh?

NUNNUH nuh?

When you gonna NUNNUH nuh?

NUNNUH nuh?

Never gonna NUNNUH nuh

NUNNUH nuh . . .

Muh-MUMMUH-MUMMUH

MUMMUH-MUMMUH-MY AROMA!

[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #11.]

INTERVIEW WITH A WOMAN WHOSE INTUITION IS FALTERING.

When my girlfriend invited me on a long weekend in the mountains
to talk & renew our traditions that began in Sophomore Year
I imagined a few lazy afternoons filled with ice cream raids &
nail polish & weepy Julia Roberts vehicles (well, for gals like us)
& when I arrived I was handed a glass of cabernet (no problem)
I was given tastes of the delicious courses she’d been fixing—
little forkfuls of greens w/ shaved pecorino—little spoonfuls of
quinoa pilaf—little forkfuls of sweet potato gnocchi (no problem)—
but when dinner had ended she set out a bowl of frozen berries
on the coffee table & began to shake out of her pocketbook
a long, pliable object, well, it was then that I dashed for my car
of course we could’ve renewed our Sophomore Year traditions
at any fashion mall (duh!) but the real worry was my intuition—
w/o it nothing is bright & nothing is safe & nothing is clean!


[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #10. Too, see: Dan Gutstein Speaks to the Cat.]

INTERVIEW WITH A PERSON WHO SPEAKS IN QUESTIONS.

The traffic glides up—or down—the one way street?
It’s a city but quiet in a neighborhood
that will grow dangerous at night, beneath overpasses?
The wooden models & their grand plans lied?
The city sprawled & chipped & sunk
& weltered & snapped in half, in places,
an arrangement that prefigures casual run rioting?
In the future, Marco Polo, the swimming pool game
will be, by then, an Olympics sport?
They’ll just throw all the Marco Poloers into the pool
at once, from all nationalities—b/c Marco Polo is universal?
The final three swimmers earn medals?
That, or a judge will just select his favorites—
the ones who slept with him or gave him gifts?


[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #9.]

INTERVIEW WITH THE OFFICIAL IN CHARGE OF ESTIMATING DELAY.

Yep, we outsourced Estimation in the 90s & the Oughts

to Samoa, or so we thought, but when the phone records

came back Albania, well, that scandal kicked the calories

outta Middle Management & we brought that job home

I mean, one job, I know it ain’t much, but I’m proud to say

by now, these Delays are 100 percent American-made &

100 percent American Estimated & 100 percent American

Middle Managed & 100 percent American fulfilled—that is

when the Delayed equipment, person, or sum actually arrives

(I was sent to Theory Courses at the Extension Campus &

ever since I’ve adopted the motto: Keeping It Real Time!)

Oh yes ma’am you can expect a delay of 10 to 15 minutes

our latest information suggests a delay of 20 to 25 minutes

see? I just love helping a Fellow Citizen to be Delayed!

[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #8.]

INTERVIEW WITH A SKEPTIC OF COLONY COLLAPSE DISORDER.

Einstein theorized “No bees / No people”

but I see plenty of folks

especially in Wal Mart—

& haven’t we been Post-Colonial for, like

300 years by now? I mean

so a colony collapses, that’s Capitalism, Bub

a replacement comes along w/ honeycomb

& queens & drones & palm buzzers

how many Conspiracies-in-Science

before Gov’t places a Warm Day Tax

Einstein should’ve theorized “High taxation”

& sorry—no, the critters can’t overtake

another hive—instead of Pollination Reform

these bees oughta get off their lazy knees.

[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #7. Too, see: The Greatest Poet, Paul Celan.]

INTERVIEW WITH A SELF-DEPRECATING ADULT.

I’ve deprecated three times today

that’s about average

according to my Provider

self-loafing, she says, leads to dents in self-confidence

but to avoid that I should let off some self-steam

via flagellation? I ask

(picturing brisk pennant & maypole) (ahem)

but she’s twisting her head Noo noo noo

I don’t get wrangled

but sometimes I think of deprecating my Provider

you know like scrawling “Provide Err”

under the bridge w/ spraypaint or sharpie &

sitting in the hedgerow sober

while the tintype cloud-pack calculates rain

[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #6. Too, see: The Great Scansion of 2012.]

INTERVIEW WITH A PETTY LARCENY SUSPECT.

Love is a minimalist construct, granted—
with its “ensuing domestic bliss” &
I could be in love even w/ a heavy person
here in the day slam mulching my options
I’ve matured—OK! OK!
do the two salad dressings come w/
the fishloaf or the hot baloney
b/c I’ve got the scurvy & needs mount
all right?—so I’ll cop to the mint patties &
I’ll cop to the activator & mango butter
(those were not for me!) (I owed a pacific person)
but the duffelbag of STIM-U-DENTS
were a gift from my dentist—hey man
it’s a matter of life & breath!


[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #5. Too, see: How to Read Poetry (for Dummies).]

INTERVIEW WITH THE VICTIM OF A JELLYBEANS PRANK.

These were pebbles popping
the floor near Orange Julius?
no & once a bean got lodged
in my support garment I forgot
about the kids laughing on 3
en route to the restroom I’d find
a bean in my pocket—a bean
shook out of my hair—a bean
floating in my macchiato &
in the stall I moved the bean
around my support garment good
I seized myself & seized myself
a gourmet sizzling cinnamon
so near & yet sweetly elusive!


[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #4.]

INTERVIEW WITH AN OPHTHALMOLOGY PATIENT OF BASHAR AL-ASSAD.

I come to palace w/ complaint of myopia
but Assad, he order root canal, instead—
“Root canal!” he shout behind ear &
rip open door to corridor where men in fatigue
crash into each other “oof!” & “dumbkopf!”
their paper like firework explode into air
then fluttering down to earth like autumn
Assad is gone many hour but I sit in chair
(rocket make Mach One near windowpane)
until new morning when Assad return w/
nurse & hammer & plier & elephant bandage
he have cinderblock dirt on face, on forearm
I tell him “myopia better!” I cover eye &
read imaginary chart—I do this for my life.

 

[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #3.]

INTERVIEW WITH A CHILD IN TIME OUT.

Dad says that Time Out is punishment but on TV
when a coach calls Time Out the players hug &
the scrubs run onto the court for, like, 30 seconds
I observe this to Dad then he sends me into Time Out
now I have to stand near the record player where Dad
has propped up an album called Time Out—ha ha—
very funny—by a guy named Dave Brubeck Quartet
Dad closes his eyes & gets all rubbery when he plays it
& when he plays Time Out, Mom gets all rubbery, too
I try to get rubbery like Mom & Dad—to be a family—
but Dad sends me into Time Out w/ no rubbery option
so I try to think deep thoughts, you know, like should I
dookie in the peepee toilet at school & show everyone &
it must look like I’m practicing in Time Out b/c uh oh!

 

[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #2. Too, see: Be a Professional & Come Out Swinging]

INTERVIEW WITH A MAN FOR WHOM HYPNOTISM HAS FAILED.

I admit: I love reruns of West Side Story b/c

The Sharks & The Jets snap their fingers enough times

for 100 hypnocrits (like me) to awaken . . . changed,

but no. I linger beside battery-op clocks

await the flashing red eye on a smoke detector or

gorge myself on the dink/dink of a turn signal (on the bus;

the 96 local; the same driver w/ a fondness for lefts;

he phoned the fuzz & I implored them to ratchet my wrists

w/ cuffs; I welcomed arrest & re-arrest; but no;

“Scram!”) Into which set of mythologies can I hope to arise?

Maybe something like the regal marches of Albert Ayler

b/c nobody could disprove his godliness (asleep, there,

in the East River) or the one/nil metronome of

kids teeter/tottering in the park, I should be an optimist


[NaPoWriMo Sonnet #1. Too, see: Blogpost to a Young Poet.]