Monthly Archives: May 2007

my compost piles

my compost piles favor stinging nettle
i’m thinking of starving myself to death
but lack the initiative . . .
i headed south
hit the 911 truth group
then back up to the hollow with a new filly . . .
grandchildren . . .

aahg! she gives me
till the end of the month to buy this place
friends have her a sociopath . . . no conscience or remorse . . .
(like the majority of americans)
my grandchildren need me
i’ve lost just about everything

decided to squat in my wall tent near my son & grands
yesterday i wondered about professional help
she lost her mother at birth
causes reactive attachment disorder
it manifests itself on me & my family
but i haven’t crashed yet

she tried to land a guy with an apartment in town
(to use his computer, phone, food)
he ran her off the next day
now she’s here on (her) farm with me
i keep hand mowing the nettle
pitchfork the dried around a tall pole
there’s something about constructing a haystack
the stuff is people hay
she made a great nettle quiche pie last nite
i see me teaching the skills i have
but more likely this fascist military occupied america will kill me

she said maybe she’ll be a plumber if teaching didn’t hit
i said next you’ll think of getting by with a flock of sheep & a rototiller . . .
i’ll still be circling the globe
and now i deal with personal loss trauma
i may shoe frisky (andy’s appaloosa)
& get out of auto-indoor-toxicity
the air inside is killing me/us
what a world

jim chojnacki & wendy shaffer

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moving to new york & why i can’t have eddie reardon

here in the center of the universe
where eddie reardon looks beautiful
in underwear
and new york city waits for me
like an oasis of terror
i’m chewing down the olestra chips
and lining up the booty calls
where everyone knows my name

eddie reardon will never be mine
he will always be someone else’s perfect boyfriend
and i will sleep on an air mattress on the floor
in my small room in Times Square
with no light

when eddie reardon lived here
in this building
in my perfect life
i rushed home from work every day
to ride beside him in the elevator

and as we rose up the spark
in his brown eyes ignited
my obsession
and when the knock on my door
came at 5:15
it was a feast of light
we performed in my bed
where i lie dreaming now
of eddie reardon’s dark thick wavy hair
his 30 inch waist
remembered by my hands

it’s funny
sometimes i forget
and at 5:15
i expect a knock on the door
and then i realize
he’s gone

here, in the center of my universe,
sitting on my roommate’s perfect 10,000 dollar couch
and eating my ghiridelli chocolates
i imagine new york
as a sun-dried tomato
so concentrated with life
and powerful flavor
i imagine my metro card taking me
boom
to the village
boom
to soho
boom
to grand central station
boom
to macy’s
bloomingdale’s
twelve noon on a sunday
shopping for husbands
where no one knows my name

here, in my perfect cleveland,
i’m standing at the bar
when eddie reardon leaves his boyfriend,
leaves his group of pretty boys,
all shirtless,
their perfect pecs gleaming in the half light
he comes to me
with a kiss
his tongue slipping between my lips
he says

you’ve got it all skippy
you got a promotion
you’re moving to new york city
you’ve got it all

but i don’t have it all

the first time i saw new york
i was driving that forever bridge on the I-9
and suddenly a full moon came up
followed by two lights
the trade center
and then the whole city lit up

i felt like dorothy
going to oz

i can’t have eddie reardon
because he is the perfect boy
with the perfect glistening muscleboy body
and the perfect empty brain
where everybody knows his name

here on my roommate’s 10,000 dollar couch
i am wrapped in the comfort of perfect routine
chewing on my fear of change
unbuttoning my waistline
as the video shows me
three shiny muscleboys pumping their cocks into every possible orifice
and i dream of eddie reardon
spilling over my fingers
eddie reardon who will never be mine
eddie reardon who looks beautiful in underwear

he really does

he looks beautiful
in a jock strap too.

my baby & me

we never had a chance
our straitjacket smiles & white bread touch
our fears jogging around the iron tracks
inside our mudpie brains

it was a starched collar affair
a mussolini of the minds
boot camp love —
we girded our sphincters
& locked our big money hearts
away in the brinks truck

we couldn’t relax
each trapped in separate metronome time,
each chiseling the cornerstone
of our space station fight plans

we said we were floating on a hurricane
dancing free on molten lava
but we were only clever spiders
waiting in future’s cemetary

alone now
a bonsai in her girdle
a drum machine in a mausoleum

wendy shaffer