babble 32 - October 19, 1998 at Saturn Reading Series
Channel: Poetry for Cowards
Date: 2022-12-19

[note: This poem is framed by dialogue from Orion Feig, a poet with schizophrenia who frequented readings on the Lower East Side. This is a rare capture of one of his many moments, heckling the reader with his obervations.]

thirty-two, March 4, 1994 

 Worm delights are pygmies made of apples and oranges gone toward the fastest freeway. I like my gore, to spit and have it photographed as art. We fornicate like dogs, and then tell dogs to sit. Stand. Beg. Art. For what reason are we mortals, when hygiene is not as important as fish and grain for a boil on my arm. Your systematic grunging has no repetition except in the yodels and booms of holy highnesses. Born are the fish and tracks led to my home. I have no eggs left for you, my green antelope. I have no more trees.