Fake Poems / Real Poems
October 26, 1999

We each wrote a line, which was then folded over and hidden. At the bottom of the page we wrote a corresponding line (corresponding in meter? in meaning? intended to suggest where the poem was going? antonyms? We all had our own interpretations). The papers were passed. The exposed lines formed the "fake poem," while the hidden lines were the "real poem." To quote Blonde Redhead, "Fake can be just as good."

The transcription below follows this format:




O My cookie. My donut. My big. My bang.
With no car. Birdcall
gave me the feeling
when you first bored me.
You were wearing down, and I held you up.
Lemon juice, linoleum, turpentine.
Except tireder.

Third star, the worst star, the rock star
In the war. It is song
reminded me of the moment
I met you
I am naked in feathers, but you strip me pure
Like a grove over a glove.
But nakeder.


But the parsnips turned brown, Rudolfo!
your shrapnel more bogus than mine
There is no song in the field now.
Insert window here.
I truly hope you receive this in good health after the abuse you endured.
Maybe I am writing to you from work.

Except when asparagus thickens, Cletus,
an angel, etudes, all in the pot.
Here are some notes on a landscape, achem.
All together now, All together now.
Perhaps this finds you living, or better.
Perhaps this finds you dreaming.


The problem with bicycles is
Iíve been avid in bowling & lawn-dart throwing,
When the green day deflates, becomes sour
I never meant to hurt
everyone how to squish their
wordwhacker and her Cream of Wheat.
I certainly donít get paid enough to tutor his bocce game.

The fact of the matter is
sitting around indoors is a putrid endeavor
an inflammatory upper cut to the sullen jaw of punk rock
I only expected to teach
Mavis what to call his
typewriter or his MaltoMeal
& wax indignant when pressured into teaching him field hockey.


I told my mother that she should pretend I was dead
But he only knew that the grass wasnít green
But he really got her goat when he gave the cord a yank.
Cuckolded in the trunk of his own car!
This, the beginning of their long embrace,
Is yours.

She teased her husband that he might think she was mean
While he ran the vacuum and exercised spleen.
But he swiftly by vicious tug avenged his queen,
by refusing he scheme, by refusing to rhyme.
That was the end of all ploys. The long race
was mine.


I need to go sit in front of my screen. Was it Jenn
where all the old Oreos go to die
because I went through there after you left & was horrified.
You never call me Nigel anymore. And nowadays,
You will be anyone else. The next day
I think the horizon will move a lot closer. And
That block wearing its dead animals.

You have to be lying near your bed. Are they babies
or the crumbs of what you were eating before you fell asleep.
Since upon close inspection of the results I was rather aghast.
I always say, "Youíre Clara," forever. But tomorrow,
I certainly wonít. Soon, any day now, I hope the cleavers
will chop a lot better. Or that a very small, efficient man in a white
hat will appear and make the bed.