/for G.S.
It's not so bad if you counter the dog with a couched lie giving up the cat as superior to nothing and holding the corners of your mouth, one up one down, while you poke in your chin dimple with the corner of the dresser and explain "I'm not your slim pickens, I'm not your dishrag, I have a right to inflate the toilet seat before I sit on it, I don't want to go to Mars I don't want to go to Venus I don't want to go anyplace but up, up, up where there are no concaves and no convexes, no babies and no adults, no circuses, no old movies like Moonlight Bay with Doris Day & Gordon MacRae," that's the truth, the single solitary truth as you read letters others have sent you by mistake thinking you have a head on your shoulders and an eager ear when in reality you have no head and only deaf ears plus you're not who they think you are and you yourself are not who you think you are, nor will you ever be here there or anywhere since you drain out of the pen you write with and are so self conscious you've destroyed yourself, and the soul you were given at birth bumps along behind you wondering when things are going to get better and every church that was ever built says I want to save your soul that's bumping along behind you and you finally step out of the mirror and embrace the me I've always been with no soul to speak of, just a dangling participle or two and a bunch of double negatives and ending almost every sentence with a proposition, that is, preposition—no, no, no I meant what first said as always ending almost every sentence with a proposition and that is this: to why and wherefore and to wit and to way and to say and to weigh out and to be way out and to access and go to market, that is Costco, Home Depot, Lowe's, Best Buy, Target, fucking Walmart, the Chevron, the Giant, Frank's Mercantile, the Range, the Yuppie Mart, US Bank, the Credit Union that one over by Albertson's, and every other place you can go to by not really going to since your mind is not with you and you're so dispersed you might as well be in fantasy land with the other dingbats and the worms with wings and the wings with worms and the doors without windows and the windows without doors as Cain & Abel make love and Mitt makes out with Romney and Michele gives Bachmann a finger which she paints the nail of with a little smiley face how cute and Newt the goat Gingrich the grinch kisses the pig that rushes out of Limbaugh and french kisses with Rush's good lookin' dope dealer and Antonin the pinhead expanded into evil empire Scalia taps his fingers on the Koch brothers' favorite pussy galore and the whores of dancing furies fondle David & Charles as Herbert the chocolate sherbert Cain fiddles as he hopes Rome his country the world burns as he sticks his hand where his heart should be and Exxon puts an oily pump there and the dumbed down world listens to drivel like this as no pen puts words to paper like the evil empire does sprouting from suspicious seeds only provided by our friend with the ruby lips Monsanto altering our genes for our betterment thank God, thank the crickets we no longer need nature do we now do we or do you doubt, do you think a poor little infant pea-brain like mine could come up with anything of consequence as I butt my head against the evil syndrome of hubristic corporal wealth and fascistic monsters encircling the world with their takeover as we the little people the insignificants the minuscule doodads us zeros, us nothings us non-existents by our own admission weak-kneed, limp-wristed, lily-livered, low budget teeny brained midgets, fools, piss-warts what can we be but what can we do but disappear go away invisible never never existed but in the spark the slight off the cuff spark the out of the blue spark that spoke, the spark that started that undercut and come upon and zapped and ignited yes set set fire to ignition where there was nothing, set a fire to set off, started more than started exploded explosion purr-flooey wow pop the non-existent bang we sparked set off the biggest bang of all you bang-ee, you bet your life the bang the big bang the biggest bang of all no words ever will do it justice as we explode unbelievable out in away every way then away out out in every direction out and over and away, way out every way we are here again to start the whole damned thing over beginning beginning again beginning forever in beginning again into now favored by energy and lust and good sense and common ordinary magic of nature naturally organically prismatically in focus as the world turns upward like the plant of earth blossoming again beginning earth master & mistress mother and earth sister father aunt & uncle earth grandfather & grandmother mother of us all.
Larry Goodell was born in 1935 in Roswell, New Mexico, where crossing cattle trails meet the Pecos River. He is married to Lenore Goodell, photographer & phenologist, and has lived in Placitas since 1963, extending poetry into its ceremonial roots—performance, masks, costume, lighting, song, scene, with cloth or painted backings to poems when appropriate. Although tagged as a performance poet since the early 60's he loves the printed page and founded duende press in '64.
Books: Cycles, 1966 (duende press), Firecracker Soup, 1990 (Cinco Puntos Press), Here on Earth, 1996 (La Alameda Press). His online work is on the move, see About.Me/LarryGoodell for interviews, articles, numerous poems, plays, songs and a blog on three-dimensional poetry.
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