Sunday, January 26, 2020

Gerard Sarnat writes

Yokels Lured to Yonker's Asylum  

Testosteroned 32 year-old’s court receivership asskicking after my Greater Good
actions invited a lawsuit -- run off a country road by plaintiff goons -- my own hooligans
assure no knives/ Glocks packed or bugs/wires on our boardroom’s telltale secure lines. 

My bodyman makes damn sure I’m not mugged in the civic center can occupied
off-hours by fire station groupies who rendezvous there with their hook-‘n-ladder
johns’ mullets which are all business in front but all bring-it-on party in back. 

After we won and kept dominion over our clinic and jobs, a friendly local druggist
sent a picture postcard, “Ain’t seen you in church. When you’re back from Hoboken
(Doc Williams, don’t you worry, no one else knows about your apartment there),

please pay a visit to the yokels in the decrepit stinking cabin right outside town.
Their neighbors a football field away complain, have been badgering the sheriff 
last coupla weeks.”... From Big-Sister-In-Charge, “Dad cheated, wandered, 

put everything back onto me. His barmates knew how to show a girl a good time
but gave me filthy diseases. Not wanting to be no martyr or pervert, I’ll lay it
200% on you. But don’t expect to get paid or nothin’.” Fresh as lead paint,

can’t fake desperation, she swaddled a baby the size of a half loaf of bread. 
Cheeks and nose smudged with impetigo, the adolescent hacks hunks of lung.
At this rate with a $100 of luck, bunch of kids might grow up to become pudding-

faced garbage hustlers or briefly expensive two-timed whores. I entice the children
out the door, through the slush and trash, into my Oldsmobile before the alternator
finally turned over and we went bonkers on our way toward a safe Jersey haven.
Poet-Doctor William Carlos Williams posing in his house. (Poet-Doctor William Carlos Williams posing in his house. (
William Carlos Williams -- Lisa Larsen

1 comment:

  1. William Carlos Williams was both a poet and a physician. Beginning with his internship in the "Hell's Kitchen" area of New York City and throughout his 40 years of private practice in Rutherford, New Jersey, his "medical badge," as he called it, permitted him "to follow the poor defeated body into those gulfs and grottos ... , to be present at deaths and births, at the tormented battles between daughter and diabolic mother." From these moments, poetry developed: "it has fluttered before me for a moment, a phrase which I quickly write down on anything at hand, any piece of paper I can grab." Some of his poems were born on prescription blanks, others typed in a few spare minutes between patient visits. His poetry was also influenced by his studies at the University of Pennsylvania, where he was befriended by Ezra Pound and Hilda Doolittle (the poet H.D.), who used to splash ink onto her clothing to make herself indifferent to the means of writing. Despite the rigors of his dual career, he also maintained the active lifestyle of an adulterer.


    And yet one arrives somehow,
    finds himself loosening the hooks of
    her dress
    in a strange bedroom --
    feels the autumn
    dropping its silk and linen leaves
    about her ankles.
    The tawdry veined body emerges
    twisted upon itself
    like a winter wind...!


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