DC Gwinup

 Winter 2001


She handed me nachos and cheese
Like the kind they serve at
Ballgames and gas stations.
It was repulsive,
But I ate it
As various insects scaled the yellow
Walls infused with the smell of cat piss.

She has $45,000 in savings
And $25,000 in stock,
But she prefers to eat shit
If she has a coupon for it.
Her arteries beg her to use the savings
For tofu,
But she can't hear them
Over the sizzle of the
Frying pan.

She died tomorrow,
And left me nothing.


As I drove in today
The clouds took on a
Dali look
Could be sleep
Could be wine
Could be weep
Could be dine

Could be garage sales.
Could be that it rained today
And then the sun came out
Which gave the clouds
An unusual iridescent glow

But I feel obligated

To at least test the
Wine theory
Could be garage sails.

They're Packaged Better

What kind of cigarettes are those?
She said with a drawl.
Dunhill, they're British I think, I said.
Hmm. Well, these are Marlboro,
They're American
She said with a drawl.
I think she was making fun of me,
But luckily that was the only
Communication we had.

I don't miss her
Or her drawl.

Mostly Tuesdays

I like the way it just happens
Like it's supposed to be that way.
A hand up my dress in
Conversation. Nice.

Still in conversation.
Hand down my white
Still in interesting conversation.

No waiting, no wasting time,
No pretending to want
Something else
No pretending. Nice.

Fucking, no conversation.

A toasted Cuban with
Fresh tomato,
And I'm on my way.

A Wal-Mart Shopper

I read a "poem" today.
It said the goal of life
Is Heaven.

How do they know?

This sounds like a person
Who knows everything
Including the meaning of
How to solve for world
And why my father turns
Every conversation into
The Rise of the Third Reich.

This is a brilliant, immortal
Someone who wears
Someone who drives a
Someone who preaches
That hard work is good for the
Yet leaves their shopping cart
In the middle of a parking space
At Wal-Mart.

At the end of the "poem"
I was looking for a
1-900 number,
But all it said was
Some crap about

Letter to HC

The books I borrowed smell like
Your house.
I don't know which I
Do more
Of, reading or sniffing.
I guess it's a mixture of
Cigarettes, boiled chicken, and

But I probably shouldn't have
Admitted to that.

Heading north just passed the
Liquor store, a new installment
Where farmland used to be (actually,
The farmland is still there only it's
Sowing manufactured housing
Instead of cotton) :A doublewide trailer dealership.
Now I gotta look at a bunch of
Fucking trailers
On the way to work everyday --
Not that the scenery was that
Stunning to begin with.

I got a raise, but
That doesn't really make up for
The trailers. Nor will it cover any
Moving costs incurred.
I must be

All the same, I miss you.

I'll admit to that.

Buy It - Any Day Now

Stole some money today.
It's the least he could do
For me
Since he can't remember
My name
Much less my birthday.
It was a birthday present
I tell myself.

Although he wouldn't
Spend that much.


Today the words are thin
And tall
Like a woman on a catwalk.
Not particularly attractive
Or even interesting,
Just gangly and strange
Like they don't belong
Only in advertising
Or bird cages.

Breathing is difficult
With sounds of insects
Spitting like a
And cursing like a
3rd grader at
What they have
And what they
Could have been.

I often wonder how
Many have been
By accident
And how many
Have eaten by accident.
I rather like the idea.

Knowledge will bring some
And some will be killed by
I am never
And I don't want to
That long.

I hope I never ate a
That's worse than a bug.

Like That

A man with the
Stare of a serial killer
And fingernails
To match
Seems to make other
Men nervous.

But not nervous like cats.
Nervous like inmates.
Like caged cannibals while
The grounds keeper is on
Vacation and left no replacement.
Like a male praying mantis
Who is horny.
Like a 10th grader
Who missed a period.
Like a CPA on the day
Before his flight to Mexico.
Like a married man
Who accidentally gave a whore
His phone number.
Like a man.

Nervous like that.

The stare and the fingernails
Do it to you.
They make you think you're
As crazy as he is
Maybe you are.
Maybe he isn't crazy at all
And you're just paranoid.

Alright, which one of you
Guys is gonna ask him first?

A Well-Rounded Evening

She sits on my lap
As two lesbians
Go at it
On stage.
She spreads her legs to show me
Some shiny gold
Between her lips.
You should try it
She says with a slur.
I don't like pain
I said without a slur.
And on stage one ejaculates
While the others mop the floor.
Watching the dogs run
Wasn't quite this
Nor was the Chicken Marsala
Before that.
Maybe everyone should have a
Round off the evening.

Sick Video

I had expected a little
More creativity.
But I didn't even
Have time to get wet.
As that guy in Clockwork Orange
Called it
It was nothing more than
The old inout inout.
As the mirror flipped off
The wall, up and down
Oh baby, hold on
I've seen junkies crash harder.
More than enough
I love you's.
Buy a vowel
Spin again.
Take a fucking number
Like a six-year-old who
His first worm on a dare,
This show was

Thank God it only lasted
3 minutes.


The city smells
Like it did before
I got a job.
Like when, sometimes,
You can smell the halls of
Your grammar school so
And the smell of a relative
Long gone
But for a second they're
Right behind you
And you can see their face so
All are the smells of freedom.

Everything smells better when
You don't have a job.

Extra Strength

Living on antacid
Swinging from the wires
In the city
Like an old T-shirt
In a tree
In the park
By my house
Flung by a kid
On a bike
On a drug
Not a hug
High on high
High wired
To the city
On antacid.


I wish someone would have
Visited this weekend.

I cleaned the bathroom



A new diet
Data soon to be

My Background

Four old men in Columbus Park.
One standing and preaching
To the three on a bench.
One's asleep
One's in La La Land
And one is arguing with the standing man.

Could be a background scene
In any movie
In a park
In a city
With pigeons
Every where.

But it's in my background.

Along with me.

A New Diet

Being a whore
Who threatens bums with
Cold prove fatal,
Or full proof.

Threats work if there is a

So does being a whore.

Testing 1 2 3

How Many tries does
It take
To find the perfect

'Cause I don't like frosting.

But I'm gonna eat it

Too anyway.

Apparently three.
How come it's never

So you'll know just how shitty all the
Other cakes really are.

My mother was a crappy cook but
She could always make


Goal (dis)Oriented

Still working on the same
Goals . . .

Technically - going well
Spiritually - a roller coaster
Mentally - a patient

But, sacrifices should be
In order to
Accomplish goals.

And, I got some new shoes.

On List

Been talking about
The concepts of time,
Time travel,
Space/time continuum.

Basically Einstein, Aliens,
And Pamela Sue Anderson

I love my list.

Who knows . . .
We may actually be
Productive for a day or so . . .
First time in six years.

Our goal was ten.

Suicide by Proxy

I would like to
Travel over
The Einstein-Rosen Bridge
To our parallel universe
Just to see
If the bizzaro me
Has equally
As fat a thighs
As I.

If not, I will kill her
And take her place.


I hate my father
I have always hated
My father.
Lots of people hate their fathers.
Growing up with a shit father
Builds character.

A lot of good that does if you're
Not running for

And I'm not.

There is a stench
Rising up from my
Feelings for him.
It's starting to effect my social life.
The showers aren't helping
And am I getting any
Better? No.

I'm not.

Parasitic Saturday

Picking ticks
Off my best
And crushing
Them with a pot
On sale.

I would crush them
With a
If I had one.

But I don't.

And the dog don't care.

He gives me ticks
(like yesterday)
As a gift of love
But he has no other objects to give.
And ticks are
Admirable, like ants.
They endure.
They survive.

He would give me a nice pot
If he could.

This is our source of entertainment you know.
Admiring ticks
And buying cheap pots.

What can I say?
We're easy
We're southern
We're making it

Like ticks.


I will take down
The curtains
I will take down
The clothes lines
I will take down
The world

(my butt has fallen asleep)

With one more cup of coffee . . .

I'm off.

I will go down
The steps
I will go down
The hill
I will go down
On a living will

And a
Mill . . . ion dollar

I will take down the world.
With one more cup of

Fucking Crazy

Do you think he's
Crazy, I asked the

Yes, he said. But I
Am no great judge of
I fuck poodles.

I nodded in

PC Dinner

"Senator #1 is spending
The weekend at
Secretary #2's ranch in
Arizona where they
Will eat some Barbecue
Along with the
Head of a
Democratic Leadership Council."

Wonderful, I said,
As I am sick to death of

(I have put in a request for a side dish
of asparagus.)

Only Temporary

Aversion therapy
Only goes so far.
The pain in your
Head averted by the pain in your heart
The pain in your heart
Averted by the pain in your hand
And the pain in your hand
Averted by the
Rain in your eyes.

Blurring your words
And slurring your art.
Burning your art
With the lightening
In your fingertips.
Reading a LOUD
Over the thunder
In your head.
Stopping dead.

The storm was averted by
High winds . . .
But another will come.


Puff the magic
Living in

(clink, clank)

And on our local
Oh God, morning classics
And now I have to
Relieve myself in the
Worst way.
I know the two
Are related.
They have afternoon classics
Too in case you missed
The first one.
Relief runs out of
To the sad violin
(which plays ALL DAMN DAY).

(clink, clank)

I haven't even eaten yet -
32 showers pass
Before my eyes and
Not one
Has my name on it.

Everyone needs a shower
After such relief
But the clanking in the
Kitchen tells me
It's going to be
Long day.
No time for such
Frivolities like
A shower.

A pill for the pain
Off . . .


The blackest cloud covered me
Which I thought made for a most
Beautiful day.
His cool breeze
Kept the sweat
Off my back
And his presence
Kept me in suspense.

I'm not here to
Wet you my dear
I'm only here for effect,
He said.

I didn't take my umbrella into
The shop because
I believed him.
(I always believe him.)

I stopped home to
Dry off and
Laughed at the
I didn't catch his name but
No matter,
They're all the same.

My cup runneth
Over with trust,
And shows no signs of

I hope it never does.
(I guess that means
I still have


Under the aegis
Of potential buyers
I gouge the trash from
My head
Like a bum digging
For a half-empty
Bottle he spied
At the bottom of the can.

(We both know best
how to sell our souls.)

Probably not worth writing down
But I'm taking
A break from selling.
The market is as hot as
My ass if you have brains to
Go with it.
Men are flopping like fish
On the NASDAQ floor.
Bidding for something they can't find
Anywhere else.

Art is not a rare commodity.
It is the artist that eludes us
(like Nessie who giggles under
unknowing boats).

For one can seldom
Distinguish the artist from the

Often much to our advantage.

Ah, the floor is open
And I must
Bait my
With the fresh meat
I picked up
At the market today.

Hell vs. Retail Shopping

Navigation through the
Caves of Hell
The resilience of an ant
The balance of a mountain goat
The bravery of a soldier,
A big ass jug of
Sweetened Mr. Whippy

And probably a fly swatter.

(The jugs are on sale
at Wal Mart
this week.)

Good Day

I was going to go
To work today.
Would have been a good
Day to go.
The cows were going
To go to school also
But turns out the
Teacher got sold.

So we took the day
(though I offered to sub)
And sat under a tree in a field
Of weeds, oats and marigolds.

It all seemed too perfect
(like my plan to work today)
Then the cows ate all the green,
And left me there,
Baron, unshowered,
Smelling of bug repellant,
Fully responsible and
Sticking the flowers in
Places that would

That's more like it
Something familiar
I knew I should have
Gone to work today.
Sure would have been a good
Day to go.

The Top

I live on the top shelf
Of the bathroom,
The one no one else
Can reach.
I noticed it was
So I took if over
I guess I'm the tallest one

I've been here
Five days and
Haven't really accomplished much,
Avoiding death threats,
Birthing dogs,
Sweating, and
Testing crashed cars
Has taken up most of
My time.
But I am on
Page 20 of a classic (written
On paper).

No one has yet
Noticed the shelf,
My tweezers
And me.
But that's okay.
The last place I left
There was too much emphasis
On me
My whereabouts
My garden
My mail
My laundry,
My heavy breathing.

But mostly my whereabouts.

I'm glad no one
Else can reach
The shelf.



John in the Box

My great regard for life
Went into a box
Full of tapes
And posters
And song books and
Some albums
When I was 13.

Declared Satanic
And I a prostitute
By male parental figure
And some other important

This life is an ugly child
With one obligation
After another to
Keep it on ice.

Where has the
Innate instinct
For the species
For special occasions
Special medication
For spatial awareness
And clear satisfaction

In the box.

Okay, I never really had a great
Regard for life.
But I could have.

It's not over yet.


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