Andrew Lundwall (Wisconsin, USA) & Adam Fieled (Philly, USA, Editor): Five Poems From FUNTIME

JANE’S DOUGH

crisp window star freezing
jane's got dough to spare
I think I'll invite her to
eat the rippled red dream

baby give me head
be pointillist be be
be thorough be be
be punk rock be hc

yeah jane's the only
doe w cloven hoofs
I engrave a platinum
horn on our grind

ROOF

I burned the roof
of my bedroom's
mouth & your
mouth was an O

& orphans are smoking
a yellow belgrade
what hills around
& x-ray spy eyes

I singed the sheet
that was wound a-
round a pinkish
punkish sparkle nail

the stripper
told me in a dream
become or else
boy come alone

NOODLE GIRL

the way of swaying lights
what pouncing churches
she has her atonal hair
is the graffitti of being

there, in spaghetti, in
swirling noodle blues of
screw-worthy doings
in the camel's pink hump

hand on her behind
i lit a cigarette crosseyed
a wasted crossword puzzle
pissing in the wind of metaphysics

groovy, tooth-bearing things-
in-themselves, steeple
chased blisters & I had
only just met her

NONCE GIRL

Your eyes are almost
dead-wood dining
tables amidst oaken
floor-board nose-
rings in a history
book lesson in

post-hardcore
ms. nosebleed
bring on the flys
addicted to skateboard

as in skate over sky-
faced sly-winking
journeys beyond
plum-pear fatty tissue

yanking chains
yawning danger
split in two
dismounted
haunted
guarded

POOF

It was something intenser,
a flower, a picked clover
tickling the insides of a
space around this cup,

something denser
picket fences
punk rock wrapped
and the clock goes

poof through the wolf
hour, scotch whiskey
gone troppo into a
lick-whisper ear-muff,

muffdiving trippy dick's
got a thing for pistolas
pornograph it out
& consider this,

that G-d maybe be
an armpit or a first
edition of you laid
around a pillar of salt

burned the churches
slurring through
some vintage midnight
made of sand


© Andrew Lundwall and Adam Fieled 2007