Arupa Chiarini

Arupa Chiarini, who lives in Gaineville, Florida is a poet and playwright.

Her most recent work, a performance piece for actors and painters,

called "Primary Colors for Three Voices," will be published next year

by Mautz Publishing in Nevada City, California. You can reach her

at barupa@atlantic.net.

Armageddon Blues

shrink wrapped in plastic cases

the size of a baboon's rear end,

cover art channeled from Bosch

with the the help of a machine assembled

by a doctor in the State of Georgia

who got the blueprint from Angels

after his liver fell out on the Billy Graham Freeway,

showing a mattress the size of the world

stuffed with vegetarian maggots, oatmeal, hot snot

shitting diamonds, rubies, pearls,

falling through high meadows of starflowers,

my grandmother's rocking chair walking uphill,

her thin, iron-gray braids snaking down from mountain tops,

shaking a rag mop at

GOD IS LOVE BARBECUE ALL U CAN EAT $7.50,

The Blessed Virgin appearing nightly on a saltine in Hollywood, Florida,

while up above

Saints still sing the Music of the Spheres,

million-dollar dicks tearing through the sky trailing

ozone holes the size of Cheerios,

stars popping out like Saturday Night Zits

on God's enormous face,

bringing us

animals fucking for PBS,

dolphins committing suicide in south Florida,

Leave it to Beaver reruns,

beef cake on the beach,

interviews with ax-murderers,

one-legged rednecks defending their cross-cultural

penetration of yard dogs,

me eating mustard greens, picking boogers, feeling myself up for lumps,

tongueing dry holes in my oral cavity,

the shredder in my brain

sending up puffs of confetti about

that fucking green Disney-buck imposter pretending to be

Kermit the Frog emceeing Up Your Ass With People

from beautiful downtown

OR

LAN

DOUGH

while Moe chases Curly across that piece of liverwurst she made me eat

in 1952 and then I threw up all over her shoes and went and played

Old Black Joe on my viola all afternoon

until the maple tree in the front yard began to shed personal accounts

from survivors of the Holocaust as reported by the Readers Digest

while

the baboon's anal orifice still

sprouts

a daffodil.

-Arupa Chiarini

>From Arupa and/or Bob Freeman barupa@atlantic.net