Spoken Word: 3 Poems by Jessie Janeshek

Spoken Word: 3 Poems by Jessie Janeshek

Palm Springs/Bombshell Falls Apart

Messages heaving                blood-lipped
    or blonde-lipped            a Hollywood presence
a dark drink in the desert
    and real pain for the sham friends
treating me worse     than ex-husbands
    or box-office poison.

Raise your hand if your mind
    slips more than lye
you say you’re a dog                too tired to think
    jingle to jangle                       no more wanderlust.

What’s my totem or Tarot            messages heaving
    all my hair falling out?

There’s truth hanging, too        the pre-emphasis circuit
        too dense to depend.

In The Saturday Night Kid        I spoke not a word
    insinuating beads            and microwave frequencies
        and the filter was blue.

                                              You kept carving songs of collapse
                                  as if you knew so much of the underworld.


Live to Tell

Put your money in the dollhouse
    it will say whom you’ll marry
put your money on the axe blade
    and no one will care
or put your money in a dead duck
    and hand it to a cop
in your rush to be eccentric    an erotic blonde gong.

I cannot rush but I want that cult following
    or I want to watch trash
with the devil in the bathroom
    urging me toward the trails
the electric planchette.

I lock the rooms with a stone when you’re not home
    the boy with bad eyes and a limp takes my ticket
shit out or shut out
    or the boy rings my orange lipstick.
Put your money in his mouth
    and he’ll sew a ruffled blood blouse
    or a bone daydream
or the fact is there’s really worse things to have
    than fingerplay long and strong
than praying to pay for it.

So much hunger at the murder house    abandoned clay pigs
    I rearrange the alphabet blocks
ask if this town is all slaughter
desperate for bread and physical comedy
    hang on the answer
a deader grandmother haunting the trees
    in my flapper beads
or it’s a ghost cow    since every once in a while
    the cows want to moo at the moon
and every once in a while I think you’ll kill me
    to drape my middy blouse on a scarecrow.


Autumn Kiss/Meat Lust

screwball-long walks            apologies for your gender
    smearing pesticides on my lips in the haze
kids climbing the tree            not turned blood enough
          still I thought we had something
lying down side by side            in hay on the traintracks.
    I’d braided my skeleton        planned a new planet
      quick money    lips and tips    matched like a floozy
                touched up my moody cinnasnap roots.
        We said we could predict
    each other’s death day        the antique phonestand fallout
        the foldout bar in the car
            my sex-antic slant    or the noose in the room
        but all the human noises      were in someone else’s yard.

His truck bed was full        of muddy duck decoys and booze
                and what demons when I rip
    out this bloody heartland    in my deep-blue nightie
        in my half-off cape.
You say I get lucky          that I can’t sustain narrative
    master and slave
                  so I drive to the river
        past the man with the shotgun
            I drive in the corn    so kiss me bye-bye
                I’ll rise once a year
                  since this town is mad
            for blonde carcasses dressed up like scarecrows.

Emily Dickinson: Gothic Queen

Emily Dickinson: Gothic Queen

Poetry: 3 Poems by Celeste Rose Wood

Poetry: 3 Poems by Celeste Rose Wood