Rye |
by Crawdad Nelson

the first thing I learned was how to dodge the blast of doom; I've been waiting
ever since to find out what next: they keep promising illumination,
but I blink and nothing is different, just a little worse.

I try to be an optimist, all that beauty squeaking through
tight little doorways and spilling out windows
as soon as you touch anything it's either pregnant or dead,
the stink is pervasive, the rot is delicious,
imagine finding another human being so attractive
you'd stick somebody in the guts with a knife, imagine the destructive potential
living in caves,

I come from a hurricane summer when the girls were fertile
and they knew it, taunting us across the yard

and hanging their underthings out to air
the dogs slammed into the door and swore out knucklehead complaints
in clear harmony upon the hillbilly skyline
of skeletal ridges and dank secrets.

Nobody ever admits anything is wrong
and a million strangers eat the paint off their furniture
before finally starving. Cattle have much to teach us,
but can't, since we kill them if they stand still
but its either that or die, which only accelerates things

I notice that everytime I go near the ocean it foams at me and tries to suck me in

the stars are lined up not for aesthetic reasons but to toss an angry god
shit over biscuits using the vacuum rule and quantum ethics

to destroy us all           what a pain in the ass

make mine rye.

 Can't See a Thing
The Writer: Crawdad Nelson is a 53 year old writer who's never really managed to get past the first round. In the 90s he spent a lot of time on the road, West Coast, traveling to readings, meeting poets, being that type of guy. A lot of it came about because he was editing a small magazine, some because he also worked a lot as a writer.

The Artist: Brian Einersen draws cartoons, writes stand-up comedy and performs it too. His website is www.brianeinersen.com , and he also posts new comics here.