The VGP Literate No. 18

Eat, Run, Stay Fit And Die Anyway

death is
the after-party
and I am wearing
my Sunday finest
because when they dig
me up they will see
a formed, firm, finessed
fossil ready to lay down
for my right to remain
dead

 

Thomas Fucaloro is the author of two books of poetry published by Three Rooms Press, most recently It Starts from the Belly and Blooms, which received rave reviews. The winner of a performance grant from the Staten Island Council of the Arts and the NYC Department of Cultural Affairs.

The title of this poem comes from the “George Carlin Book Club Series.”

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The VGP Flashback #4

Headbanging

Thunder fizzles out—
Hector the room mechanic selling strawberries
on the corner of Jones & Tropicana, off white Bentleys roll by…

Heavy metal strippers sliding down silver poles
to greet salacious mobs—

cheap beer & buzz cuts, fake tans & spandex dreams
over-compensating alpha-morons swingin’ bullshit shovels.

Clinking bottles of Cristal,
wowed by an artificial horizon,
lime green suits snorting coke off a Waterford candy dish.

Tweekers are cooking breakfast in a meth lab on
Washington—
Marijuana & Bananas, al fresco: fry
until golden brown (extra crispy).

From an eastside veranda—pink flamingos fading plastic:
“Incognito Sun”—shiny new foreclosure signs.
115° & even the lizards stop doing push-ups & hang cool
in the cracks of unfinished retaining walls…

cruising by the Desert Breeze Dog Park, kids revving engines
skateboarding by the Old Mormon Fort in North Las Vegas:

one kite left… under cloud’s anvil dome… it’s getting late.

Flip flops & cut offs, a half-assed line forms in the express lane.
The cashier sweats, the register fails.

Playing with questionable canned goods in aisle 5
“Sweet Sue—Whole Chicken in a can” –fill up the cart.

Price-fixed oil, gouge-out gas erases any beer money.

Leftover teen angst
invested in His & Hers ATVs (custom air-brushed)—
a well-endowed pink lady in thick black mascara

thrashing south down I-15,
subwoofers blasting angry double-bass
“Cookie Monster on PCP”
glass-garglin’ rock-salt & razor growl

“just tune down the axes & crank up the distortion, dudes!”

sky opens up—grindcore in a melancholic minor key.
Ancients spew judgment
in thunder crack & staccato zigzag flash.
Run for cover, duck & roll behind the rock…

Man-boobs bouncing along Death Valley dunes.

 

“Headbanging” was written by Chris D’Errico and published by Virgogray Press in his 2008 chapbook, Vegas Implosions

 

Carcinogenic Poetry Recap No. 4

Exhaled

blank vault
to an abyss reduced

my shadow my shadow
cast upon bare white walls

brail of death
of an insurmountable blindness

filth of corrupt night endless
storm of the unflexed hand that quivers
beneath the weight of the dark

churning the pale pulse laughter of where
the ripe blood has flown

stripped bare the sunken flesh
the nakedness of the wind

talon of existence the wings of the vulture
to engulf breath

death rattles the grieving air cannot
be exhaled

absence of sound
an absence of tears

falsetto of shattered flesh

 

 

Trace

hollow laughter

infinity of black

silence

an opiated kiss

inverted sky

scarlet sands

nothingness

the finite light adrift

trace of an absence unknowable

 

 

Michael McAloran was Belfast born, his family moved to the south of Ireland due to ‘The Troubles’. He has been writing for almost a decade, but has only recently begun to submit. His work has appeared/is forthcoming in the following: Poetry Monthly International, The Delinquent, The Recusant, Lines Written w/a Razor, Counterexample Poetics, Full Of Crow, Gloom Cupboard, Writing Raw, Eviscerator Heaven, Clockwise Cat, The Plebian Rag, Why Vandalism?, and BlazeVOX.

Originally published at Carcinogenic Poetry on December 8, 2009.