What to Do with a Rabid Boy
He best sit, say, screech—
teach him. No stop unknown,
cause ‘scuse me, stop. Stop gale, stop god.
No crackly pissing god, no Hova, no new ustedes,
I’m talkin’ scot-free catechism. Posture a lean boy,
besame. He can’t kneel. Is pristine
in the past? Stop-gap. Is there a spare hell dealt
to scare me? This is lamb’s milk, retrograde
New York in snow domes. Recreate
in odd creases of gods’ beds, tie in stealth drugs,
craven docile exoskeleton— naked, precarious. Pain reeks
in canal systems of political monologues, inventions
of brief poetic prosthetics. Muerto, can he go?
Past a village or prophet, past the skull goal.
Give Me a Rambling Plot Twist
Romeo, I want the D. That was not
even that hard to say.
There was romance, there was romance, there was drama, etc. etc.
mulled wine instead of blood. All fields are unpredictable,
let’s go into the arts.
About the author:
Suzi F. Garcia is a poet in the MFA program at Notre Dame. There are just two things you need to know: she like her beats fast and her bass down low. She can be found watching horror films with her boyfriend & cats or at http://suzifgarcia.tumblr.com/