Friday, October 22, 2004

NEW! John Latta poems

John Latta

Three Poems


Gap-tooth’d and blue, I

Dive the slurry stretches of

Sky, sky myself and goatish.

I want a minstrelsy wench.

I want a slender Russian

Apple-picker to chuck green

Granny Smiths at me, beginning

With a zhili byli, one

Way to momentarily lock up

A sizeable piece of continuum.

Or snatch the booger’d Starres

Downe and pluck a handy

Something, something like a muddy

Drench of ale, wise-making

And tragickal-like. Inestimable my

Pudeurs in th’amorous repudiate dark.


Loud’s my hangdog sonata, I

Pee roilingly into th’ebon bowl,

Night foaming up a translunary

Crescendo against whatever be feeble,

Be duff’d. Earth’s an erratic,

A boulder-dropp’d crumb out

The glacier’s maw. Milky Way

Extend’d a pedicle and fill’d

It with itself the way

A paramecium moves, as if

To say it never met

A ne plus ultra it

Didn’t like. --So’s your old

. My crabbed signature nebulaic

Trailing off into semantic froth

Looks like spit on water.


Clatter in the dailies is

All box-score debt load,

Kudos to the weimaraner, noogies

To the wisenheimer, all stalked

By the back-lit escutcheon

Of th’undiplomatickal eye. Don’t call

Me Linnaeus, who never left

Uppsala, who claim’d the swallow

Winter’d under water. I am

Not fond of Liars. Armed

With a xyster to debone

The keister of one Criminal

Secretary who downs Rums in

The Field. He shalt not

Have nothing good chepe, he

Shalt never have my boy.

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