Jay Passer

by Ian on March 30, 2011

Passer is not fond of snow.  Passer has published before so what.  Passer screams top of lungs standing on roof of 68 Mustang in the downpour.  Passer Native of San Francisco.  Passer hasn’t seen a Dr. in 10 years.  Passer published with Burroughs in 1988.  Passer has a funny smelling name.  Passer hides from the sun.  Passer in 3am Magazine, Poetry Super Highway, and So What Daily.  Passer likes cats but is allergic to cats.

Origin Of Spring

blue bottled intimacy and brown rice
flannel frayed batteries charging
brain left somewhere else yesterday
call the lost-and-found department of the heart
sweet potatoes cooking in pot of Asian wine
laundry day restless revelations unravel
madly apace in cold room window broken open
eschew teeming humanity favoring deconstructed composers
shadows haunting room dusted with long hours
air slowly leaking from bicycle tires
ink crackling quiver of disposable quills
heart charged with romantic arrogance
sure thing dine in company with buzzing flies
miso soup fried egg noodle
moon eclipse shadowing earth
rain cloud cool gray
American dirt


Well sharpen my throat with a buck knife
Well hang myself from a hook in the closet
Well cool my ashes by the seaside in Santa Cruz
By the boardwalk and roller coaster we once rode when we were fine
Oh sit on my hands and pretend I’m not inclined
To slice open my love like a watermelon
Pour in the julep hang from a tree decompose
Meat bleeding on flowers just born of the soil
Well shoot me full of train whistles and dread
Put me to sleep with a wave of the hand
Take me out on the rails with no less than an 8-ball
I roll with the best so hit me up and keep ‘em coming
They told me to stay away from the insidious types
Impetuous and bold and no match for your daughters
The sinister eyes and shifty composure of the morally challenged
They tell me to host my opinions where the sun don’t shine
So the sewers can receive the full brunt of my true nature
So the Halloween animus wreathed in methane can conspire abominably
To the puritanical podium thumping brethren of sheep
Well fuck my open wound with gladiatorial weaponry
Well taste the testosterone-musk of my death-rattle
Quiver your nostrils flutter your heartbeat
Shut your eyes to the slaughter
Keep ‘em coming
Deeper and.

Dystopia 101

We work our ass off
To hone destiny for our children
To keep the fire hot since the future don’t look bright
Living for the now is positively overrated
Money in the bank is only as good
As interest allows
The question being whose interest is at stake
Back to the children have you seen yours lately?
What are they dressing like these days?
What are they drinking and shooting
Who are they fucking seeing god damn it
It’s our ass on the line here
The one percentile can well allow their ne’er-do-well ejaculate
To wander the Ivy League campuses
Safely ensconced in a dream-free paradise
Oxford and Cambridge and Rhodes
No service industry automaton pending status
Interest being vested
Vacations off a postcard
Private jets
While us third-world axe-murdering rapists
Drink and smoke and shoot our ass off
When that urge to procreate overwhelms our sense of Armageddon
Find a proper website to aid in the manual excitement
And hire an immigrant to play house with.

The Blame

I fell off the teeter-totter
I was kicked out of yoga class
I drank the wrong stuff under the sink
My cat was abducted
My parents were foreigners
My hands couldn’t keep to themselves
I threw something through a window
The news the next day read
Terrorist in our midst
I took the bus to Houston
I took the train to Hoboken
I took enough speed to fell a horse
They blamed it
On the imitation

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