Ed Taylor

Ed Taylor lives in Falls Church, VA, and has had work appear in Exquisite Corpse, Black Ice, Fiction International, Another Chicago Magazine and many other places. He can be reached at etaylor@tmn.com.

APOCRYPHA

He portrayed Hercules in The Fantasticks,

leapt Olduvai Gorge with a dollar in his mandibles,

cried when his car wasn't ready,

ordered Nazis off the field at Super Bowl III,

hurried his shot and missed,

took offense at French addresses,

kept cocaine in an astronaut's skull,

ate Elizabeth's appendix before Parliament,

danced on the backs of swordfish,

punched out the cow in a Rousseau,

bled on a commemorative stamp,

played to the universal latent trapeze artist,

grows like hair on the heads of the dead

forever.

APRILLE

I ah don't know what to call this

throbbing wet with antithesis and thesis

Villa and Trotsky toe to toe

on a clay court happening smack

in the middle of my corn flakes

for however hunger comes it comes

as an unbidden dirigible skidding slowly

through the air toward dead man's curve

also known as the horizon

the point is what is the point

and where on FDR Drive today

let's pray instead of speeding

see if we can stop ourselves

without violence

even my violin's full of demons

they're kind of sexy plus they never

forget the contraceptives

I'm self medicating Ma look

no more unsightly stains only golden books

on chains and a friendly libarian naked

let's go to the park and plant ourselves

spring is about to shoot its wad

program launching flowers into space

we shall farm and gather at a haystack

plant the needle that gives us a reason

for this living on hands and knees

IN A STATION OF THE METRO

"we've used up Paris"/a woman reading music

her broken golden sticks/we're rooms filled with fog falling

diplomacy: Clinton lips a mouthpiece

notes emerge in Beijing

real estate: heaven the gated community

at the most coveted location

a dead end

sports: officer suspended with pay

while boy's death investigated

horoscope: we have to go where the fuse takes us

BURNING BUSH

I am a sleeping machine. He she it is

hyena in high heels. Why is my car

not red? It is blue

black as the night bruise.

I killed this brick for you.

Honor or jokes I think should be my first name.

For we deliver faster pasture.

A spear wand over dinner's hubcap.

After all Africa, so accept crib light

in the dark.

For a drum solo with equal cheese,

hurricane loose in my palms and hair --

l'acheiem!

Oil that voice; otherwise, the dog.

Opera opera opera shun.

Save the box you came with;

play in it.

Can or button the milk,

spoil reportedly (over & over), repeat

and serve.

Firecracker hot cheerleader mayhem,

yes, can bring onset of labyrinth.

Early or late, wake up, frost the cake

or it is naked, baby. Stop.

Love, god.

TODAY THRU SUNDAY

[after Ceravolo]

hey zeus! invasion!

silver wire glistening with silver

milk blunt

autumn is a lucky mutt

mostly frozen out of happy

breathe now and

a gain

simply to pygmy forbearance

at the zoo stripes and

everywhere my happy friend

and then and

searing doggy door pants

a heaven of corners

lettuce bray! but

leave me leaves! do not ever french me

or park and shop god

TAILGATE PARTY

[for Spartacus]

there is only one game

played everywhere all the time and

kickoff's always immanent

(rah rah har har)

all of us in our stalls feel the electric city in the air!

antennas crackle frying up our diet

(not fireflies in aspic

like for them saabing into their chablis)

hey man what's on the Big Screen

I'm starving

(try to say "unbridled" bet you cannot

spit it out)

meanwhile

the blimp of state on its stadium tether trembles

we are geeked

verily after a killer week at Consolidated Dessicants Inc

the dustbags of our lungs fill the air with cheering

--oops drivers lose their way in that loud fog

stir up wrecks like omelets (good for business

from all the cracked vehicles bleed

all the scores WE'RE NUMBER ONE with election results

slipped in

let the sedation begin

SPICE OF LIFE

"New Life Salt Works" is a prison

where China seasons citizens

to taste

I read

digging

with my fingers at the dry office

snack room shaker as someone

says "back to the salt mines"

in his striped tie

Ed Taylor