Saturday, July 13, 2013

John Roth- Three Poems

John Roth is a starving poet by day and nude model by night.  His work has most recently appeared, or is forthcoming, in Aberration Labyrinth, Brevity Poetry Review, and Bone Parade.  He currently lives in Ohio.

From my top 10 wish list

      10.  I want to play extreme water polo,
leaping from a hot-foam jacuzzi.

 9.  I want to play the sadistic dentist, who
yanks teeth with pronged garden tools.

         8.  I want to play Sandra Bullock and win pageants
in my sequin gown, decked with pink boa feathers.

         7.  I want to wear pointy rhinestone tiaras
that dig into my scalp like a cranial plate.

         6.  I want to snap my brittle fingers off
like a snow-wrapped tree branch,  

         5.  count the digit’s tick on each phantom hand
while organizing a chrome-gun bouquet.

         4.  I want the stench of smoldering steel,
to slip a bullet into its quiet bedchamber.

         3.  I want to strap a jackknife to my ankle
as I watch its silver blade slither along the ground.

         2.  I want to eat a stale vending machine sandwich,
just to hurl my guts up in the toilet like splash art. 

         1.  I want the world to burn.  Fire spreading
like a rash, and I’m the only one with ointment. 

The selfish lover comes with an instruction manual 

Give me a needle
and I will string your eyes
through a coin-hole.

Give me a razor
and I will skim the gums
of your teeth.
Give me a match
and I will turn a single hair
into a candle wick.

Give me a toenail
and I will use it as a shield
to plate my skin.

Give me a key
and I will unlock your jaw
so you may speak.

Give me your body
and I will bend each perfect joint
into a mannequin’s.

Give me your love
and I will break it every time
like a bisque doll.

Give me a knife
and I will shuck your tender heart
straight from its shell.

Give me even the slightest
opening, and I will exploit your kindness
until you never know of it


On the verge of a total collapse

The pillar of faith
was knocked down
and replaced
by a shopping mall.
The catechistic pylon sank
into black gutter muck.
Swollen eyelids deadbolt
when pupils grow
a pica for rust shavings.
The infant teething a rattle
snake.  Suckling milk
from the fang.  We played
hacky-sack with an
unpinned grenade.
The adrenaline rush, awarded
for a brainless stunt.
All of the combustible furniture
was thrown away
for posterity.  No one helped
to put the fires out.

No comments:

Post a Comment