Jackie Simmons is one of RealPoetik's New York City correspon-
dents and can be reached at jackie203@aol.com.


"Hyperactive Hibernation"



I can't leave this place until I find some placidity.
There's a fine line between violence and male bonding.
There's a chemical imbalance of power.
There's an emotional reason for everything.
The vegetables move, and grow mold.
The elbow macaroni is broken and screaming.
My future tells lies in the bottom of a tea cup.
The clock chimes cheerfully and brings terror.
My teeth throb and my heart is hesitant.
The doorbell doesn't ding, so they all walk away.
The alarm goes off, but it's not time for anything.
The television's showing white noise.
Concentration's a futile game.
Assume the pose and you won't be disappointed.
Nice people swallow, then they die.





Home is an orgasm, decorated with origami and kneaded until doughy. Consisting of all things familiar and an occasional cat. The list of similarities between women and cats goes on and on. I'll probably wind up dead on the side of a road in suburbia, too. The road to suburbia is paved with white dollars, tension clans, and some ooey-gooey icky stuff.












Jackie Simmons




Jackie Simmons is the 29-year-old editrix/trixster of the about-to-be-published-this-October literary mag, Rag: A Monthly. She's gotten some great submissions, and even some subscribers, and she's looking for more.
Jackie203@aol.com


TIME WITH YOU
Jackie Simmons

I want to spend time with you so I can bleed all over your pretty white
sheets.

I want to spend time with you so I can feel the scar between your legs.

I'd like to spend time with you so you can help me find stuff between my
teeth.

I'd like to spend time with you so you can fill my hollow heart with rage.

I want to sing songs with you so we can make dogs howl and babies cry.

I want to spend time with YOU, not THAT asshole over THERE!

I'd like to go to the library with you so that, together, we can learn how to
say "Eat shit and die." in forty-one different languages.

I want to spend as much time as possible with you now, before you move across
the country, so that I'll miss you as much as possible once you're gone.

I want to spend time talking with you and strumming guitars so you can give
me some feedback on my distortion of the facts.

I really NEED to spend some time with you RIGHT NOW because my vibrator's out
of batteries and I can't afford to buy new ones!

Let's spend the weekend together in a small, dark room so we can feel dirty,
and brainwashed.

I just love spending time with you because you're almost as sick, demented,
and generally fucked up as I am.

The best thing about spending time with you, at your place, is the way you
always fall asleep on the couch. Then, I can write poetry uninterrupted (but
not undisturbed!).

I want to spend loads of time with you so you can finally get fed up and say,
"Fuck off!" so that, then, I can go do the things that I really would rather
do.

I think I'll spend some time with you tonight instead getting ripped and
cleaning my AR-15.

I think I'll spend some time with you because, now that I've finished
clipping my toenails, I have nothing better to do.

I was going to go now and get my puss-encrusted running sores lanced with a
hot spike over at the walk-in clinic, but, no, I think I'll hang out with you
instead.

I'd like to spend some time with you today, Sweetie, instead of killing
myself with my survival knife, which is what I had originally planned to do.

I really would.

You're very special to me.

~*~


Jackie Simmons writes of the next piece:
"It was inspired by John S. Hall. I went to see him perform at Sidewalk Cafe (Ave. A & 6th) a few weeks ago. We were talking, afterwards, and he began insisting that I really should pierce my tongue. So this is a response to that conversation.

PIERCE MY TONGUE

The inside of your mouth is 98.6 degrees.
My mouth is hot.
My tongue is cowering.
I’M SCREAMING!
IT’S THROBBING AND BLEEDING!
I’M STABBING MYSELF IN THE TONGUE
AND I’M THINKING OF YOU!
The sterling silver stud is in
my tongue is thicker than my earlobe.

lapping up isopropyl alcohol
lisping into the wind
whistling through my tongue
waking up naked in the middle
of a stream of unconsciousness
speaking in letcherous tongues

No one’s ever died from piercing their tongue. Have they?
If I pierce my tongue, will you finally shut your mouth?
Will that make you smile? Will that make you drool?
You oughtta pierce your tongue, too.
Get a taste of your own medicine.
Why should I pierce my tongue right now?
A breeze is blowing.
In a few minutes they'll be showing a documentary on
the history of phylatio on public television.
Put a tape in the camcorder and record the piercing
of my tongue. My piercing screams will fill your ears.
Go to Katz's and get me a tongue on rye.
Pierce my tongue, then kiss me on the cheek
for a week or two while my tongue heals.
I’m not afraid. I can lick this.

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