Daniel Broudy composes

Building seven, oh, where did you go? 
Forty-seven stories from ground zero 
Made in red masonry, and occupied 
By Giuliani’s indestructible lair 
The zealous cows that led the team 
To inquire of your whereabouts 
Said you collapsed from raging fires 
A buckled i-beam vaporized your floors 


Cognitive infiltration 
Dulling the minds of the masses 
Time for manipulation 
Dominating the lower classes 

Servile sycophants and media goons 
Crushing voices that question the tale 
Supplied us all with a mass of lies 
Mesmerizing and to hypnotize bridge 
A genius in mass persuasion 
Cass is sun stein Pushing a new kind of Kool aid 

[MC Fluff:] Building 7 
Where did you go? 
Made you go up 
Made you go down

Daniel Broudy writes

Corn Horns

Peter produced a bright bag 

of corn horns happily 

with a like grin 

and crushing a palm-full 

of the salty yellow 

cones amidst my tender back 

teeth Anne slipped them on 

slender fingertips prodding 

the weary bard to loosen  

his jeans 

shirt to expose his bare 

back to receive her 

ever-eager 

that he might know 

at last the wonder 

of a snack 

food back scratching.

 

 

Daniel Broudy writes

An Occurrence at the Dining Facility

my roommate belched 

an act 

he could not help

and out

across the table

atop a silver saltshaker

sat his breaded veal

just a sliver of the meal

half-digested

rested

for everyone to see

his girlfriend shrieked

i could not speak

he paused

to gain his breath

but out came more

uncontrolled  
like chocolate milk

it poured across his tray

with bits of stuffing

and gravy

then nothing

but nicely formed

like puddles on his plate

when suddenly there

repelling from his chin

he appeared to salivate

and eyelids

at half-mast

he seemed to barely utter

though straining

i surmise

his request

was for the butter

Daniel Broudy writes

Morphine and Our Final Conversation: A Transcript (Dad 1921-1997)

How do you feel now?

 

Like an exhale

a warm breath of air

as if

in these damp sheets

I am not

really here.

 

Well where?

 

In a light

white as day

can you not see?

 

That was somethin’.

 

What?

Never thought about

givin’ him a cloak.

 

Who?

 

Christ

and

I’ll

now take a puff of

your cool beer, for

I feel like a happy water

spring pouring out of the

center of my chest,

hovering above me content.

To go,

I’ll wait again

to be asked but

for now

I’ll take one more

sip of that cigarette.

 

I don’t really want to go.

 

Should I give them

my name?