Lewis LaCook

Lewis LaCook is a poet, musician and net artist whose work has appeared in CTheory Multimedia, Rhizome's artBase, Cauldron and Net, Artifacts at Web Del Sol, 5-trope, _sidereality, Big Bridge, Wired Art for Wired Hearts, Poethia, Aught, Lost And Found Times and ArtCrimes, among many others. In 2000 Anabasis published his long poem Cling as a chapbook; in 2001 BeeHive published his Odious Art of Lewis LaCook as an e-book for the Palm Pilot. Most of his net works can be seen at

http://www.lewislacook.com ; his music can be heard at:

http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html

HERO

George W. Bush leaned into his two-way SuperFriends ring. He knew he'd have to get back-up for this one; the Axis of Evil had is gray again, another overcast morning, and

I wake later than usual. Our cat stares down from the screened-in back balcony at what I can only assume to be birds. She licks enemies of Freedom have taken the oil!" he screamed into the transmitter. "In about three seconds, no-one in America will be able to start their cars!" Dynaman frowned. "What tired slightly, eyes still gummed by sleep and blurry. Our neighbors crawl wearily into their cars. The sun shivers, and pulls clouds closer.

WHITE GRITS AND CATSUP

When I first began my fascinating study on the effects of local rainfall on genital shape and compaction, thousands tethered like cattle, herded like sheep, appeared to me in pre-dawn drowse-dreams, wherein the silent room and the breath of my mate mixed in a drizzle of soliloquoy with vague shapes lucidly drawn on the insides of my eyelids. One version, called Doctor, mimicked a Rogerian psychotherapist, one that brushed my teeth quite regularly, listened intensely for the muffled hum of fascination growling on the other side of the line. Peter Ganick said: and doesn't the treeline instead look like someone took bites from the sky? I try to imagine that shy mouth, often paired with descriptive skill. She said: your genitals, at rest: great whitish flowering room. I, too, took it upon myself once, heaving it up over my chest to hurl at the taste of tobacco mixed with drizzle latte almost too late to save the heart beating; the heart just pumelling your poor stupid friend to mush.

FOOD FIGHT

You know, she dribbles sunshine

over trees from nipples maiming

the goddess virus, the goddess virus

surviving near total nuclear

ice cream fudge over the hinges to

Hey, fuck you, my man, this year's

hardly working payments spawn shadows

spun from spinning spines, cotton candy

cotton candy, like gnawing fiberglass

with sugar shotguns, sugar shotguns,

you see, the door that flowers with

light just beneath, through which

we see her, standing over a bloodied

Absolutely! Waiter comes back with

swimming in the meat virus, the meat

virus like stones from a colonoscopy

or copies of his head, recently divorced

from the trunks of backlit trees, zombie

pastry, zombie pastry, oh my in that

light we can seal up whole natural grains,

Lewis LaCook