not your bitch

we wandered through peep shows, all with a glass floor
pulled down our skirts for the pervs looking up
we got used to the shame, this tedious chore
like our golden coffers were made to corrupt

we ground their laurel wreaths to brew bitter tea
and claimed the remains to make new storied crowns
we were the stars of their voyeuristic spree
carousing soma of feminal renown

we were prostrate matriarchs with pride intact
and their fire loins only provoked us all
we were by far the best, putting on an act
to tempt them and fool them, to give them blue balls

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2019

never wake

it feels like i’m falling away
like you don’t want me to care
then tell me, why am i here
tell me why i’m anywhere

all that i’ve held onto
i guess it doesn’t mean a damn
fain just let me disappear

the nothing i had, you burned it all
so at least let me be warmed a little while
gift me a last unbeholden smile
then tell me why, why won’t i die

all that i’ve clung onto
i guess it isn’t worth a damn
fain just let me disappear

it feels like you don’t want me to feel
i’m the face you’ve unseen behind the door
don’t tell me to dry my tears
don’t tell me anything at all

everything you said
was all i ever knew
everywhere i trod
was to keep pace with you
everything i felt
i’m everything imbued
i’ve never needed you more
to enslave myself to you

you’re the stone that weighs within me
beneath this binding arc of decay
lo, i am death, lo, i am sleep

 

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // A Crushed Leaf by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

An hour ago when the wind blew high
At my lady’s window a red leaf beat.
Then dropped at her door, where, passing by,
She carelessly trod it under her feet.

I have taken it out of the dust and dirt,
With a tender pity but half defined.
Ah! poor bruised leaf, with your stain and hurt,
‘A fellow-feeling doth make us kind.’

On winds of passion my heart was blown,
Like an autumn leaf one hapless day.
At my lady’s window with tap and moan
It burned and fluttered its life away.

Bright with the blood of its wasting tide
It glowed in the sun of her laughing eyes.
What cared she though a stray heart died –
What to her were its sobs and sighs.

The winds of passion were spent at last,
And my heart like the leaf in her pathway lay;
And under her slender foot as she passed,
My lady she trod it and went her way.

So I picked the leaf from its dusty place,
With a tender pity -too well defined.
And I laid it here in this velvet case,
Ah! a fellow-feeling doth make us kind.

 

by ELLA WHEELER WILCOX (1855-1919)
Public Domain Poetry

BUT IS IT POETRY? // the last mission (fel-de-se)

bird pierced horizon
somewhere between trees and clouds
spilling rainy nails

a man in a hood
hopes to join them tomorrow
stuffing a nail bomb

1265542358_ornament

TONY: So, Tati, are you advocating terrorism now?

TATI: Huh?

TONY: A man in a hood stuffing a nail bomb. That’s pretty potent imagery right there, my friend.

TATI: And where’s the logic, my friend? Is everything I see something I advocate and enjoy? Is this the case for you?

TONY: Well, no, but I didn’t write a poem about it. It seems like something that was on your mind at least…

TATI: But you write about masturbating and depression. I don’t think you’re fan of such activities.

TONY: I’m a fan of one of them, but yeah, I take your point. So, what was your intention when you wrote this poem then?

TATI: A fan? Do you like depressive shit?

TONY: You’re dodging the question. No fair!

TATI: And everyone pretends that they don’t get you’re a fist fucker.

TONY: Ahem. I think we were talking about you and terrorism, not my sexual proclivities!

TATI: Next question, Jerry.

TONY: My name’s not Jerry!

TATI: Gosh, Oprah, you’re as dull as a holey galosh.

TONY: Oh, thank you so very much. That’s a lovely goddam thing to say! Jesus.

TATI: A galosh in glasses.

TONY: Fine. I’m a galosh in fucking glasses. This interview is over!

TATI: Really? Okay, Oprah. Then till next time, take care of yourselves and each other!

TONY: Jerry Springer signs off with that. Not Oprah! And there’s only one of me here!

TATI: Aw, boo hoo hoo! Go to Oprah!

TONY: What the hell?! Tati, are you stuck between TV channels?

TATI: Shall I punch you goodbye?

TONY: What’s gotten into you lately? You’ve been acting like a… well, a terrorist!

TATI: Aw, Tony, don’t you see I’m trying to raise our readership? Your dull interviewing technique would send even my grandma to sleep in two seconds flat!

TONY: Oh, so you’re proposing to thump each other over the head with our chairs, is that right? That’s your grand solution?!

TATI: And what is your proposition?

TONY: I don’t know. None of this has gone the way I planned. I think I might just go and take a nap.

TATI: Typical Tony!

TONY: What? What have I done now?

TATI: Just go. Meanwhile, I will think of the next ‘But is it Art?’ questions.

TONY: Don’t expect me to be a cooperative interviewee then. Feh!

Dear readers, don’t touch that dial… and stay tuned for more!

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018