dave roskos
Posted on February 8th, 2010 by Monsieur K.
better to jot down lines
than sniff them
better to write a bad
aaaaaaaapoem
than no poem at all.
Filed under: Dave Roskos
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better to jot down lines
than sniff them
better to write a bad
aaaaaaaapoem
than no poem at all.
Filed under: Dave Roskos
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Cowboy Poet, Kell Robertson, Outside Vesuvio’s Bar, North Beach, San Francisco, 2001, Copyright: A.D. Winans
I’m listening
to Kell Robertson sing When You Come Down Off The Mountain. His voice sounds like his throat has been sandblasted raw, gravel over gravel, bourbon through phlegm. The second he sings the line, Just remember, you gotta [...]
Filed under: A.D. Winans, Kell Robertson, Todd Moore
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Painting by: S. Clay Wilson
OUR LADY OF SIMULTANEOUS ORGASM
St. Louis the Absurd had heard that a young prostitute
had been performing miracles at the Shrine of Our Lady
of Simultaneous Orgasm in Laodocea.
The impotent and sterile travelled thousands of miles
from every direction to touch the hem of her garter belt.
“Who fucked me?” she once asked at an [...]
Filed under: Dave Roskos
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Paul Sohar drifted as a young refugee from Hungary to the US. After receiving a B. A. in philosophy he drifted into a lab job hoping to pursue literature on the side, and the results have slowly appeared in dose to two hundred publications and six books of translations, die most significant being ,,Maradok – [...]
Filed under: Paul Sohar
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Life had gotten
too clever for Hondo Molovinski. Cleverness was at the core of all his broken relationships: clever women, yoga instructors and lawyers, women from rich families who slummed with Hondo because he was reasonably good looking, knew the names of obscure punk bands, and could fuck all night with the aid of a [...]
Filed under: Joe Weil
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Old Ladies at the Flea Market
They most come here
every week whether they
need to or not, these old
ladies in wheelchairs, with
walkers, canes, surgical
stockings stretched over
swollen ankles, varicose
veins as they creep down
the aisles, stopping traffic
both to a fro, harder to
get around than The Seven
Rocks of Granite, blue hair
permanently waved & frozen
into place by aromatic sprays,
hoese dresses reeking [...]
Filed under: Alan Catlin
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Midnight Poem
Well, I’m home on my 49th birthday, after a movie, champagne, & loving, up late, still drinking champagne & listening to Monk & Coltrane’s new CD that Vivian gave me. It’s a new CD, but it was recorded in 1957, my birth year, and I’m listening to “Monk’s Mood” and it sounds pretty much [...]
Filed under: Eliot Katz
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dollar bill wall paper
42 year old collages
cut & paste hippie
meat zen kaleidoscope
texts
suicide shotguns
put to rest
dead beatniks
dead bukowski
dead Dave Church
in a lurch
slumped over the
wheel of his cab
attic apartment
scattered w/ poems
& letters
snow is falling
on Providence
the junkies asleep
in their crips w/o cares
wake-up in a cardboard box
on a heating grate
Dave Roskos, fall 2009
Much more on Dave Roskos can be [...]
Filed under: Dave Roskos
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sunday morning 1/4 to 6
winter in new jersey
pity the poor flea market vendors
out there in the cold-dark
desperate for a dollar
some living in their vehicles
selling junk out of broke down
winnebago’s w/ bad timing belts
pickup trucks full of scrap metal
traffic tickets
for failure to make
repairs
asshole cops
administrators of hardship
a light dusting of snow
belongings under blue tarps
on wet asphalt
hard [...]
Filed under: Dave Roskos
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if the shoe fits stick it up your ass
a “real book”
I want my poems
published in a real book,
the poet whined.
a real book
w/a real spine
& a real cover
w/ a real barcode
on the back
so it can be sold
in real book stores
the poet blind
to the barcode
on her forehead
an mfa in creative writing
nothing to show for it
but debt.
Dave Roskos [...]
Filed under: Dave Roskos
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