Citation
White Werewolf Karaoke

Material Information

Title:
White Werewolf Karaoke
Creator:
Stengel, Adam G
Place of Publication:
[Gainesville, Fla.]
Florida
Publisher:
University of Florida
Publication Date:
Language:
english
Physical Description:
1 online resource (45 p.)

Thesis/Dissertation Information

Degree:
Master's ( M.F.A.)
Degree Grantor:
University of Florida
Degree Disciplines:
Creative Writing
English
Committee Chair:
LOGAN,WILLIAM
Committee Co-Chair:
BRYANT,MARSHA C
Committee Members:
WADE,SIDNEY E
Graduation Date:
5/3/2014

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
African Americans ( jstor )
Death ( jstor )
Karaoke ( jstor )
Natural satellites ( jstor )
Poetry ( jstor )
Racism ( jstor )
Silver ( jstor )
Swine ( jstor )
Tears ( jstor )
White people ( jstor )
English -- Dissertations, Academic -- UF
karaoke -- werewolf -- white
Genre:
bibliography ( marcgt )
theses ( marcgt )
government publication (state, provincial, terriorial, dependent) ( marcgt )
born-digital ( sobekcm )
Electronic Thesis or Dissertation
Creative Writing thesis, M.F.A.

Notes

Abstract:
This work deals with whiteness, lycanthropy, and karaoke. By whiteness, I mean the speaker is caught up in his race: he's a cracker, trying to express himself in a world where white men, let's face it, really should be restrained; he's a cracker and he knows it, and, moreover, he still thinks he's fly. By lycanthropy, I mean, this speaker does a deal with Lucifer, becoming a werewolf. His favorite meal is yuppie-flesh (he craves himself). When he's not actually howling, the speaker, empty and distracted, moonlights with the voices of famous poets--"karaoke maneuvers," to quote Michael Hofmann--with a kushed-out jazz, an A.D.D. mimicry. When this speaker, lifted on his own vibes, is overtaken by his sickness, his race, and his own impressions, the effect is crackling, kind of sloppy, and, hopefully, rather emotional ( en )
General Note:
In the series University of Florida Digital Collections.
General Note:
Includes vita.
Bibliography:
Includes bibliographical references.
Source of Description:
Description based on online resource; title from PDF title page.
Source of Description:
This bibliographic record is available under the Creative Commons CC0 public domain dedication. The University of Florida Libraries, as creator of this bibliographic record, has waived all rights to it worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law.
Thesis:
Thesis (M.F.A.)--University of Florida, 2014.
Local:
Adviser: LOGAN,WILLIAM.
Local:
Co-adviser: BRYANT,MARSHA C.
Electronic Access:
RESTRICTED TO UF STUDENTS, STAFF, FACULTY, AND ON-CAMPUS USE UNTIL 2016-05-31
Statement of Responsibility:
by Adam G Stengel.

Record Information

Source Institution:
UFRGP
Rights Management:
Applicable rights reserved.
Embargo Date:
5/31/2016
Classification:
LD1780 2014 ( lcc )

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This item has the following downloads:


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WHITE WEREWOLF KARAOKE By ADAM STENGEL A THESIS PRESENTED TO THE GRADUATE SCHOOL OF THE UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF FINE ARTS UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA 2014

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2014 Adam Stengel

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To Satan for sending me these poems in my dreams

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4 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I thank William Logan, Sidney Wade, Marsha Bryant, Michael Hofmann, and all my fellow poets at MFA@FLA. I also thank my family, friends, and Lucifer.

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5 TABLE OF CONTENTS page ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ................................ ................................ ................................ .. 4 ABSTRACT ................................ ................................ ................................ ..................... 7 CHAPTER 1 AFTERLIFE ................................ ................................ ................................ .............. 8 2 NEW STATESMAN ................................ ................................ ................................ ... 9 3 RIMBAUD AT ELEVEN ................................ ................................ ........................... 10 4 MEMORY MOTEL ................................ ................................ ................................ .. 11 5 SIGN SHAKING ................................ ................................ ................................ ...... 12 6 IRISH GOODBYE ................................ ................................ ................................ ... 13 7 ................................ ................................ .......................... 14 8 JIMMY MILLER LYNCHING ................................ ................................ ................... 15 9 WAKE ................................ ................................ ................................ ..................... 16 10 JOHN CARTER ................................ ................................ ................................ ...... 17 11 DIXIECRATS ................................ ................................ ................................ .......... 18 12 DECADENCE ................................ ................................ ................................ ......... 19 13 GENERATION ME ................................ ................................ ................................ .. 20 14 THE WHITE NEGRO: SUPERFICIAL REFLECTIONS ON MYSELF, A HIPSTER ................................ ................................ ................................ ................ 21 15 INVADER ................................ ................................ ................................ ................ 25 16 ................................ ................................ ............................ 26 17 WEREW OLF VEGETARIAN ................................ ................................ ................... 27 18 WOLF AND BABE ................................ ................................ ................................ .. 28 19 LYCANTHROPY ................................ ................................ ................................ ..... 29

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6 20 ................................ ................................ ..... 30 21 LIKE XIE LINGYUN INSPECTING FARMLAND ................................ ..................... 31 22 H ERACLES OPENS UP ................................ ................................ ......................... 32 23 ................................ ................................ ................................ ......... 33 24 POEM IN LINES FROM THE ROAD TO INVER (54) ................................ ............. 34 25 ................................ ................... 35 26 SELF PORTRAIT WITH BERRYMAN ................................ ................................ .... 36 27 BAT CITY ................................ ................................ ................................ ................ 37 28 KIND OF LIKE PASTERNAK ................................ ................................ .................. 38 29 THE CADRON SETTLEMENT ................................ ................................ ............... 39 30 CATULLUS SEQUENCE ................................ ................................ ........................ 40 31 SHELLEY EXPLAINS HIS CREATIVE PROCESS ................................ ................. 41 32 SEAMUS ................................ ................................ ................................ ................. 42 33 KARAOKE THEOLOGY ................................ ................................ .......................... 43 34 SONG ................................ ................................ ................................ ..................... 44 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH ................................ ................................ ............................ 45

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7 Abstract of Thesis Presented to the Graduate School of the University of Florida in Partial Fulfill ment of the Requirements for the Degree Master in Fine Arts WHITE WEREWOLF KARAOKE By Adam Stengel May 2014 Chair: William Logan Major: Creative Writing This work deals with whiteness, lycanthropy, and karaoke. By whiteness, I mean the nd, eaker does a deal with Lucifer becoming a werewolf. His favorite meal is yuppie flesh (he craves himself). ghts with the voices of famous poets Hofmann wi th a kushed out jazz, an A.D.D. mimicry. When this speaker, lifted on his own vibes, is overtaken by his sickness, his race, and his own impressions, the effect is crackl ing, kind of sloppy, and, hopefully, rather emotional.

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8 AFTERLIFE I slept off the luau, woke alone on a love seat. To die young is what a poet wants, I thought, but would the True Poet die in a rec room? I rose off the sofa and drifted out back to the pool. A silver sky misted. The deck was a world of leftovers: Tiki torches, S olo cups, the gutted remains of the pig roast. The night before ended in darkness: shots of hot sauce, Jesus talk, sk innydipping no w entering the flesh to be born again. This was the instant of hangover, when my upset digestive tract struck its mean god the brain. A gassy stab, it was awful. I took a sip from an already cracked ca n. I hoped to find a ride home.

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9 NEW STATESMAN A product of the late eighties two weeks overdue sunny/ half denim sky, birds float like spy satellites, ice comes close to melting. Dad forgets the oil on the news, flick s ABC off, and runs to purchase apolitical tulips. Sobbing and sedated, Mom clutches me like a decisive vote.

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10 RIMBAUD AT ELEVEN All night he sat up on his piss stained mattress, on the bed of shameful blemishes his mother, like a Molly Maid, had tried to bleach out in vain. a grey toothed druggie in the window, coaxed his skull off the pillow. He counted sheep or doodled decapitated stick figures in his hymnal. That jaundiced suburb looked worst in the hour right before dawn. It turned into a capon, awake and clucking.

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11 MEMORY MOTEL Bits of wallpaper ripple, furniture curves slightly A Magnavox tunes to the green blur of desert combat, something digital croaks Black and Blue here, passed out in the bathroom. Poor discarded baby, they shaved your ey ebrows and S harpied a penis on you r cheek. left in the tub ree recall recalls the balcony: too many beer cans, sandpipers, lotion smells, a nd a storage hungover with weeds. Downstairs is the Gulf Coast, where the teal surf tears up. The view pearls like a steel guitar solo, you curled up in there, asleep, unknowingly repressed again, sucked and emptied like a beer bong.

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12 SIGN SHAKING I marched the drag for minimum wage, strumming fake strings on a cardboard guitar. Rush hour t ra ffic honked sarcastic notes. My work orders: shake the Fender shaped sign for forty minutes, take ten off. For hours I shivered in the fast food air. Before tossing the prop on the office desk to leave work, I cross examine d the fake instrument : printed on the sign age was a cartoon portrait of Julius Caesar swallowing a cheesy pizza whole He looked demented American, over sixty.

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13 IRISH GOODBYE S ome friends! E ven after I knocked the bottle off the table smash! nobody took my keys. When I ghosted out, slipping past my crew Then I was a sad drunk white wild goat, drifting in my Mitsubishi Mirage down Dave Ward Drive. in grad school, but ended jobless, so I moved back home to drink and mope. Th is road is worse than the bar I thought, looking at myself in the rear view, my pupils, watery and small. I was being pulled over.

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14 Petroleum pepperboxes melt, trees bake, the business district goes up, and newspapermen cook a folk song. As the conflagration tears over the river before shrieks were muffled and bodies tallied the name of an Oirish dairymaid buzzes down DeKoven Street.

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15 JIMMY MILLER LYNCHING Missing his signature diamond ring, which he asked the sheriff to mail to his wife, the gunslinger hangs in a livery stable. Sunlight bleaches the cracked rafters. Leaves mat the dirt floor. coat dangles on his drooped figure. Behind the body, a white horse hovers. Behind the horse, a hole in the wall, through which a kid peeps it would be worth it to die like old Jimmy if every person in Oklahoma knew his name.

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16 WAKE Outside, January spat ice. Inside, lampshade light sulked against wood paneling. Death, death, death hovered in the air like reefer, everybody sampling the joint, holding somebody close. We on couches, on chairs, and on the floor, listening to ourselves, twenty twenty somethings, crying out lou d. All of us knew I never wanted to feel like this until I hosted the party.

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17 JOHN CARTER The body of a dead white girl found searched the countryside for Carter. When they found him, they tied him to a telephone pole, shot him, then took down the corpse and set it on fire. A riot ensued; and, when the Governor ordered in the Guard, soldiers found a young man directing rush hour

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18 DIXIECRATS Assured I was a pro historian, righteous mansplainer pondering the depths of the Milky Way, I read of souls whirled and tossed dead voices sounding like too many white folks on a ghost ship afloat the human sea. The Constitution will be run over and mocked. S tooges are coming to storm our banks I worked late, alone, copying with a pen, giggling like a silly boy at the hate, drowning in bad faith. Thousan ds of little people in Oklahoma are thinking just what I am thinking

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19 DECADENCE The pet leopard at my feet purrs while my chariot driver, Ampelus, discretely jerks my junk. me and my blond entourage with a view of the banquet hall below: it bubbles in pink red white. a sun worshipper, here to refresh court life with a death orgy: roses and roses and roses, a trick ceiling dumping roses into the hall, fifty naked slaves drowning in roses for my amusement, suffocating gurgles and lute music in the air. I come just as the last gurgling slave disappears beneath a petal wave. The music skips. My sloppy mother, the strap on her gold robe loose, is already o rdering staff to clean.

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20 GENERATION ME After Will killed himself, nothing was the same. A privileged gypsy, I steered a caravan through campus, got a DUI. Yes, reader, I made bail, lawyered up, grew out my hair, and graduated; a lonely cloud, joblessly gazing, I rocked a purple bandana I moved to the city, then moved back home, then moved to another city, type d poem after poem after poem Unlike other mourners, I never dropped a tear. Not one.

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21 THE WHITE NEGRO: SUPERFICIAL REFLECTIONS ON MYSELF, A HIPSTER First Book My second book of poems will be posthumous. My third book will be composed while I crucify on a black anarchist cross, My fourth will take place in Brazil, My fifth will focus fully on my own good looks. When I get bull headed and biracial. Then By 1948, an election year, President Harry Truman started upping the ante on his want their institutions desegregated about the black vote the party split. The Dixiecrats formed, rallying behind South Carolina Senator Strom Thurmond and his segr egation now, segregation forever most fervent disciples, giving speeches, keeping up correspondences, and actively My alma mater, the University of Central Arkansas, is home to the Governor Laney during the 1948 election season letters complimenting and approving and validati ng his anti absurd, shocking, and I immediately wanted to write about them for my Senior Thesis.

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22 Argument wise, what emerged from my research was a conjecture that the language and sentiment contained within many of these white power epistles correlated and confor med quite neatly to central concepts in whiteness studies and the social construction of white identity. Many of these letter writers from all over the country, and the world came off as both horribly ignorant and pitifully terrified. They were sure the advancement of black civil rights in the U.S. would deny their own privileges to property, liberty, and happiness. During those long nights, alone in the special collections room, sifting through the hate, I developed something more than an oice determined to empty itself of its own vanillaness, renounce its guilt driven privilege, and become authentically colorless. ******** Ever since I copped my first rap album in seventh grade 2001 been obsessed with black A merican popular culture, particularly hip hop. My dream, from ages twelve to seventeen, was to be a rapper. I listened to nothing but hardcore gangsta rap, watched BET religiously, and, when I still prayed to God, I prayed that He might make me black not because I wanted to really know something first hand about the black experience, because I wanted street cred and to get away with rapping the N word. It was with a similar sentiment, at least in part, although jazz instead of rap inspired, t hat Norman s, to emerge or provisionally black specifically by the black artists and

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23 intellectuals he counted as friends, both in the U.S. and abroad. Baldwin considers really got me thinking. Has my poetic undertaking, with its appropriation of hip hop syntax and slang, and its striving for colorlessness, coming from an upper middle class suburban white boy, been a wack, total failure? ******** People have called me a hipster. Though on some surface level they might intend for such remarks to be complimentary (i.e. I dress well), this label, in the by and by, is meant to critique my emerging identity and to call my social motivations into question. White friends, in my hometown in Arkansas, a state where racial divides still very much pers many pairs of Nikes. Around the time I began work on my Senior Thesis, I started wearing a neutral color bandanna. This fashion statement was meant with immediat e condescension in my inner circle a friend of mine, himself a hip hop head, and white, started calling me clouds, and, as a would be poet with a love for performance, b eing compared to Tupac, at rest, a poet who is, day by day, running out of things to write about. In my pursuit of rning what James Baldwin

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24 recognized over half a not become something else: one becomes

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25 INVADER sunset stares like a stalker. The new moon is an eyeball sliced in half, plastic satellite. I should reholster and get back into the car. I should return to Little Rock. The basset hound next door is woofing alarm. Relax, relax.

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26 Jove broke bad, dove down to go ballistic like an F 15 Eagle for immortality and a modest stipend. The catch: when the fat moon hits, I black out till dawn, wake up hungover in pinewoods, with flesh breath and adulterers stuck in my teeth. This keeps happening for what he jinxed me with, spit back at him this endless terror and finger food.

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27 WEREWOLF VEGETARIAN Nothing but chickpeas until the full phase unleashes me. Then thighs are soy, I lie. Breasts are artichoke hearts. When the moon st ones me with chicken liver munchies, I creep to the fridge and take whatever looks bloodiest. in

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28 WOLF AND BABE The wolf with a broken jaw gazed at the poor babe. The wolf and babe were blank protein states. The babe had a feather brain; it giggled like a kid at the wolf. The wolf grinned at the babe, a stupid, gangrenous grin. The wolf too k the babe whole and ran.

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29 LYCANTHROPY I have a disease, a devilish disease. When we wake up, my hiccup is the only thing left of you. Nothing left of me, nothing human. I call a human like you Easy Prey. You want to pray for me? Ha! When you come to the woods, again,

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30 Clouds spread like sprawl. H eavenly pursuits are geocoded. symbolic East, sucking from a bag of THC. My white friends are stuck down south in the river valley. at the south facing window, watching the river valley become suburb, as concrete malls blossom over pinewoods and New World bird species tweet. I leave the window and open another browser. Clouds maintain a culture of loitering.

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31 LIKE XIE LINGYUN INSPECTING FARMLAND nest inside the fluty solitude of watery audio, stretching light emitting vistas beyond knowing. Here, the h otlinked beaches, jade and lossy, intone with phosphor and grief. T he Great Valley of liquid cr ystal refreshes. Windows close.

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32 HERACLES OPENS UP That the hydra Looked at me it a favor. When I strangled the bull, It too looked pleased. But the folks at the forum Hardly noticed When I shipped Why sacrifice me time To steal girdles and deer When nobody cares? I mean, shit, I slay The guy who invented Melody and rhythm, If I die tomorrow,

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33 myself co Prince of Andorra and Protector of the Rhine. Holy titles would be worth an unfortunate hairline. Plus, if I had a Maluk styled saber, nobody would call me a clown, even if I tumbled like a jester off my war mount, or got exiled like the Pope, thinking Na poleon thoughts, I own the night, laurels around me, keep them stored like important emails. It might be fun to invade villages wi th a squad of illiterate gunmen ready to die for me ; unlimited cannonballs; even some women. Cognac and details. What happen s if my Arab sword becomes a butter knife? that everyone within earshot call me First Consul for Life.

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34 POEM IN LINES FROM THE ROAD T O INVER the best road is cold acidgreen the madder light jeuks about like a white bat the wee blackbird settles lying there among the puddles and shellholes I fell in love with bareness wetness speech I sit with my boots off righteous but cozy what a sin to be alive! fat pigs! fat geese! come eat! come eat! I try to love the spider cracking up and up C hrist I want to wow anyone who stares when I act like a lout my fame will be visible on that hill

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35 AFT ER e tanta e tanta e troppa roba, non so quale O Nobel man poet of Genoa, you make it rain modern lasagnas of flour and egg historicism your foxy gals sketched Capellini thin. O eel wrangler, baby boy of chemical traders, where did your love drown ? feel detached so I should stop reading you r correlatives and focus

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36 SELF PORTRAIT WITH BERRYMAN Baked with strep throat, jizzy as a wind through Calcutta, O h how my liver faces shutdown! Put on my glasses with two springrolls and mutual feelings. Policeman! Policeman! plagiarized Strip me. Jail me Night ightstick me with daylight. Beat out my fuzzy gut. Miss Past, my ex, tells me not to call her that. I Offering to smoke out my editors. my date, hangs downstairs i nhaling hot toddies, humping all the wrong things.

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37 BAT CITY Sundown, M exican free tailed bats urbanize underneath the Ann W. Richards Congress Avenue Bridge: scrawny wrinkle eared bats, Venezuelan oil brat bats, dubstep bats with benefits, bats with several advanced degrees, b ats posse ssing bloodlust for happy hour, snapped by tourists, s hort muz zled bats flutter in a web, crossing Lady Bird Lake, b at s sucking up dragonflies, s kinnyfat bats snacking on sugar eaters bats on bats on bats spiraling, sprawling, mostly bad bitch bats kept in estrus, superfast bat whoopee, bats ink the flash drive skyline, blacking out the moon.

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38 KIND OF LIKE PASTERNAK so I call you Water Lily. T hen you dry like well water choked by drought. Is it because By June, o ur chances of an encore are equivalent to the chances o f a wave vaulting up to give the North Star a high five. We are willows swaying through cruel Summer. I miss your weekend bras and their downstairs neighbors those rainbow colored panties m ind me calling them that. Yes, we left the woods when the wild goats invaded. We started seeing other people. We could have been burned, or eaten alive

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39 THE CADRON SETTLEMENT Midwinter, purple evening breaking over the Arkansas, I arrived at Cadron, a quick row of blockhouses sitting on the bluff like an imaginary town. The settlement looked hardly settled: a lone dirt road ending at a log church, a crude wall to keep out Indians, a mud square flooded wit h pigs and geese. In the tavern, on my first night, I overheard boatman mention a hunter called Cusot, They mentioned the legal punishment, castration. Four months I stayed at Cadron, hiking cli ff beds, taking notes and samples, sleeping in a freezing barn attic. When I at last went downriver, a Mr. Barber of New Orleans who spoke fondly of his hometown, of the whorehouses and public gardens. He said it trumped Little Rock, and every other place in the South in Star City, cut him on the spot.

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40 CATULLUS SEQUENCE I. Song t o Diana We boys and girls are abstinent and happy! Diana, may we sing to you ? The mountain gave you a promise ring. Your olive trees and swamps in no way remind us of sex. or lamely drone like a Methodist hymn. ourselves, unlike Lesbia at the crossroads. In the dark, we swear II. Song to Caesilius The Blank Word Document is becoming poetry, my new new shit, written to get you to hear me. If like watermelons to receive my song. I bet your lady friend will choke you to stay, so lucky. III. Song t o Old Girl You were so sexy, and you said I was too. We fooled around at noonday. Nine sex booms followed, then Trojans made way for the Pill. We did yoga together and ate yogurt together in a yurt. Nevertheless, you found someone who was less in debt, a steady craftsman who got the job done. You left me horny as a wild goat. Today and my denim is a tent.

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41 SHELLEY EXPLAINS HIS CREATIVE PROCESS We rode off, fast and tipsy, downhill from Este to Venice. We smuggled goblets of Bardolino into our gondola, snaking around the island madhouse at the very instant the green pillowy hills swallowed up the grapefruit sun. As we rowed, he did the talking. I took mental notes, best By then he was so eagle like, a noble beaked elitist, so focused. We were off to meet his benefactress at an apartment beyond the asylum. Above us: pang, pang, pang from the madhouse belfry. A signal for the maniacs to pray, he said. I made a remark. He chuckled and called me an infidel. Oh, no! It was all becoming such a poem: wine glazed, semiserious, a posthumous publication.

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42 SEAMUS Sorry, only one thing must happen Aurora is preprogrammed to pitch day. D uring my morning walk of shame I spot her, working her sidewalk hustle, He sparrows twitter for you, feeding celebrity death to Florida. Below, your old soul rots down Styx. I love you, but this news needs to be. I Yes, Fate, the raven, swoops with its defecating telos, to find a yew bough and croak. It flew to Dublin and landed on you, but here I dodge I just had sex. The sky is going all bl ue. Birdshit misses my bedhead.

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43 KARAOKE THEOLOGY She slapped me when I said I hated Jesus. This was before I picked a song to sing. As I watched her leave, I felt a tear, maybe just menthol in my eyes. I could have blamed alcohol and I could have blamed loneliness, but I directed my anger at you, you whom I only ch at with remotely. When my name was called, I sang for you. I wailed.

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44 SONG Tonight my shitfaced mimicry requested by the North Face crew is gentrifying with karaoke maneuvers my inner diva atomizing under Class C office space garage dive). You bu m rush the stage, swishing a cocktail, twisting in your jeggings like a bad Christian. W e co produce the hook Our d ance, a white people twerk, is the new poetry. Our kisses are sloppy. Our drinks are blue.

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45 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH A dam Stengel was born during the Oxygen Event. He enjoys Purp and Pabst and composing brief biographical sketche s. He received his M.F.A. degree from the University o f Florida in the spring of 2014. Like angels he skates the clouds.