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2 poems by Joseph Goosey

You Dance Funny and I'm in Need

The tips are pending on the debit card
and a cop, three hundred
and forty three pounds, sits
on his motorcycle
feeling generally indifferent
toward whether or not I am shot down.
I seem to cry in all the wrong directions.
I've always felt vindictive
when it came to the subject
of helicopters.
My uncle is to blame.
You're not.
I need the vacuum. There are noodles
all over the floor and the cats
are trying to eat hard noodles hard sun
they think they're raptors or eagles
but they're just fur
that sheds
when stared at.

 

 

Buying Donuts at the Gas Station

Most of the time our clocks are similar
to arguing with your "inner child" about what to amputate first.

A personal trainer asks me
what's shakin.

I tell him there's a really large gathering
complete with tacos taking place
tonight in New York City.

I'd like to go,
I tell him,
hold a sharpened broom handle
to the eyeball of the softest
and make everyone listen
to my latest
sonnet.

He goes away. Off to the water! He spits
on his way out the door. He's always talking about water.
Water and wind and sometimes pot.

I think about sharks.

Fishing boats. I should have died on a fishing boat.
I should have died of Japanese envy
in the middle of the Pacific
while writing a letter home in an attempt
to justify all holidays
skipped.

 

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