Screams of a Faceless Rat
By
Reinhard A. Palovcik

Edited by Tom Miller

© 1997 Reinhard A. Palovcik and FREDInk Records



Whore

I imagine her
in a dismal room
rented by the hour
lying nude on the bed

her worn shoes
tumbled against the wall
lipstick crescents
stuck to a glass
of cheap wine

tattered dress
draped over a chair
copper bracelets
lying on the dresser
in a heap

he is at her loins
licking and sucking
taking his pleasure

she is titillated
at first

but then
the heavy
weight
of her past

crushes her desire
as she lies
limp in his arms

thinking
about that ten
and the few hours
of bliss

waiting for her
at the point
of a needle




Gone

he awakens
from the accident

arms gone
legs gone
face only half there

lying amidst tubes
feeding him blood
pumping drugs

sky and sun
in his mind
sleet in his heart

everything now hurts
as he sees
field of poppies
everywhere
beyond his reach
his pain
floating up
to the ceiling

overhead lights red
behind the lids
of his eyes

short words
unwind
in his mind
but tangle
on his tongue

trapped
in the cage
of his fate
he sinks deep
back the black
that was there
before he
was born




Brainless

Here I am
opening
a beer
lighting
my cigarette

There lies
a brainless
corpse
in deep
coma
fed through
an IV line
breathing
oxygen

Alive
I go
from day
to day
year
to year
picking
at scabs
of tragedy
in my life
trying
to forget
the scars
of meager
employment
love lost
aging
and approaching
death

It takes
its toll
on my body
in herniated
disks
tarred lungs
a fatty liver
sun-aged skin

My sores fester
infected
picked
infected again
through
days
like nights
ripping
all hope
from my soul

While
this vegetable
lies
peacefully
in the ICU
with a perfect
diet
antibiotics
a constant
caress
from nurses
treating
its wounds
exercising
its limbs
monitoring
vital signs
by the hour

it is visited
by doctors
twice daily
they keep
the heart
beating
the lungs
breathing
as I wander
the streets
stare
at the curb
at the sky
plodding along
I think
I sense
I feel
I am doomed

There
a mindless
beast
rests on pillows
clean
white

at $3000
a day
it will
never speak
never walk
never think
but it has found
the love
the tenderness
and the extinction
that I
have so long
sought




Shit, Not Again

I just got
a bonus
at work
$500, tax free
and expect
there will
be more
to come

I've also been
guaranteed
some job security
and the opportunity
to travel
to Boston
to Ireland

I can now find
anything I want
on the internet
my CD collection
has grown
and I receive
several packages
of books a week

Both my cars
seem to be working
my bills are up to date
I've managed
to clean things up
and make
more friends

I no longer have
a love interest
but beating off
to magazines
seems enough
for now
and better
in some ways
they don't
talk back
or leave

But lately
it's been
hard to get
depressed
enough
to write
anything more
than the crap
you are
now reading




They All Died

One morning
when I was seven
I walked through
my parent's bedroom
and saw
this rubber thing
sitting on the dresser

It looked like a balloon
but it was all wet
and slimy

I picked it up
and wondered
what the hell
it was doing in here

It's opening
was larger
than a balloon's
maybe to fit
an adult's mouth
I thought

Then my mother
came in and screamed
"Put that filthy
thing down."
and
"What are you
doing in here?"

"I didn't know
what I was doing
in there, just bored
I guess"

Afterward,
I couldn't figure out
what I had done wrong
and never got
a good explanation
from either parent

As I got older
I learned
that what I had found
was called a "Rubber"
and that it was used
to keep couples
from having children

All the sperm
would get trapped
in the rubber
and not be able
to get to the egg
so I began to wonder
how I had made it here

One lucky bastard
had beaten the odds
before he ever knew
what he was doing




In The Madhouse

The sun is bright
the day is long
and your feet
are fantastic
simply fantastic

These shiny red stones
are the bones
of long dead
dinosaurs

Who would ever
have guessed
we'd be showered
with candy asses
in this tint
of twilight
to our eyes

"I want
real lace curtains
for my doll house
and a real lace
dress for my doll
damn it
I want them!"

Where will
this child die
when she is seventy?
Inspired by the eggs?

Light is my enemy
but I cannot
write by night
nor beneath
horns
of light
emerging
from this
incandescent lamp

We keep
the moon dim
but do not
turn it off

The stale smell
of a lone fart
lies long-trapped
between the pages
of this well-read book

"I could keep
writing
if only
you would
shut up
once
in a while"

A whale
can never
be a red whale
as there are no
red whales
with shoes
to match

We can pick
any point
on the line
and follow it
counting up

The Vatican
has no rats
they have all
been nailed
to the pews
with tacks

"There are
fewer monsters
hiding in my closet
than in the cupboard
but they are
more hungry"

Air will no longer
pass through
this ancient flute
filled with the spit
of five centuries

The world
hangs crooked
about this
magnificent
work of art

My doors
have no inside
or outside
and open
into nothing
but close hard
on my nose

"She's all fucked up
look at her eyes
listen to her
she's been
snortin' again"

The least wrothy
of men
never spy their eyes
in the mirror

In high school
we sewed
the soccer
team's socks
into a quilt
to keep
the ball warm

"Tell me Eddie
where'd you
get that tie?
where'd you get it?
where'd you get it, Eddie?
I wanna know"

My mother
always said
"now mind your mind
don't think those thoughts
don't pull your pole
or you'll lose your soul"

Who can say
where trees
will grow
where the seed falls
who can say?

"She always fumbled
for my cock
the clumsy bitch
so I shot her"




Chicken

When I was five
I played in a courtyard
framed in unpainted
weathered wood boards
I had a broad-brimmed
sombrero and a six shooter
tin drum, teddy bear
a cane, bamboo chair
motorless scooter
a silver race car with pedals
and an ancient tricycle
that squealed when it rolled

My friends were the chickens
goofy-looking things with feathers
they would walk around in the dirt
bobbing their heads fore and back
once in a while
one would take to the air
fly a few feet
then come crashing down
while their cousins
the swallows and hawks
would flit from house to house
or soar up to the clouds
I used to chase these chickens
but never caught one

Once every two weeks
I sould stand in a corner
and watch the old man
as he got out his ax
he was tall and limber and fast
more than a match for the chickens
he'd lunge out and grab one
by the legs and maybe break a wing
and the chicken would shriek
as it struggled for its life
its little red tongue
poking out between its beak
he would press its neck
onto an old stump and chop off its head

Then he would let the body go
it ran and hopped
at full sprint
one wing dragging the dirt
spurting a trail of red
sometimes strike the stump or a wall
leave a blotch of blood there
then it would drop
struggle its last, twitching
and then the twitching would stop
father would tease me
with the head, pretending it could talk
"ouch, ouch, that hurt"
or "I'm just a dumb chicken"

At dinner that evening
as the food was brought to the table
there was the chicken
in pieces, with pepper and sauce
I couldn't even think of eating it
my parents were furious
"eat or you're going to waste away
into nothing like the Suppen Casper"
father would push my face into it
and I would cry, for me, not the chicken
they wouldn't let me leave the table
until I had finished the meal
the chicken was always the last to go
and sometimes, sitting there for hours
I would wonder
when was it going to be my turn?




Only a Poem

It's funny how
some of the best writing flows
from some of the cheapest
the least reliable, the ugliest pens
that gave me a clue
about the futility
of accumulating property
what was it for?

I cuoldn't eat it while starving
I couldn't fuck it when alone
what was it for?
me to look at?
was it that lovely? no
I've seen organic things
that would die in my hands
if I plucked or caught them
they were far more beautiful

So I vowed
I would rid myself
of all I considered valuable
I would give away
all my possessions
what good were they?

Then a friend
came up to me
and says, "Hey man,
can I have some of your stuff?"
and I told him "Hey
it was only a poem, man
only a poem"




Here It Comes

Here comes the madness again
out of the words
telling me
I should stop writing
no one wants to hear this
dribbling through my fingers

Like an ant taking a shit
on an elephant
I'm way up there, alone
but there's this trunk
waving around
like it wants to kill me

The elephant walks to the lake
sucks in some water
and tries to wash me off
along with the shit
but I hold on
and the shit stays too

I ride this beast
through jungles
and deserts
and the shit piles up
until I can use it
to build a house

I'm comfortable at last
but still, there's this trunk
waving around
like it wants to kill me
it crushes my house made of shit
and I'm trapped inside

No one sees anything
the elephant is clean
except for a faint brown spot
in the middle of its back
and my legs, all six of them
sticking out, like an insect




He Sits

Each day, in the morning
he would wake and have
his orange juice and coffee
and sit on his porch for hours
until the sun set, he remembered
how horses drew carriages down
the street and the bread man would
deliver a loaf to each door
and the milkman a bottle
and his neighbors would be sitting
on their porches looking
at each other and waving
and the children would be playing
ball in the street and the patrolman
would walk by swinging his club
he didn't have a gun in those days
and the air would be filled with hope
and the scent of flowers and the wallets
would be filled with money

But it isn't like that anymore, cars
with mag wheels and chrome
speed down the street
with their tires squealing
and all the cops have guns
and all the kids are on drugs
except for those in wheelchairs
or sitting in front of their computers
and no one delivers anything anymore
except pizzas and no one
sits on their porch, they're all in front
of their TVs and their wallets
are full of plastic these days
and the sun sets early
through a polluted haze and all the food
comes in cans or frozen
and there aren't anymore forests
or fields, only tenements and misery
and drink and modern medicine
to keep them alive through it all

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