Everything I say is not a poem
It’s a Cleveland thing
structurally appropriate
3 digit rugs
coupling nuts

They try to get you with the tea
no faking that boy out
he knows when something’s up

You’re a page ahead of me

Hands I have forgotten
salt & rust
works of hands
blown clean by unemployment
crying rivers in the shower
missing hubcaps
wrinkled, clumsy, silent
genuine Cleveland black oxide
blood & saliva down the drain

I had shut out the internet
lies they tell white girls
tasty fiddleheads
people in a hurry on Sunday
hurry up & pray to god
hurry up & pray to god

they attempt to throw our state parks
under the bus
coat hanger love

even the ants won’t eat the margarine

it’s safer for me sometimes
to go out on a limb
because I have you
to pull me back in

I never thought I’d be so excited to eat chicken pot pie

he sniffed me when I mentioned your name
fortunate little DNA package
bridge game gone bad
kiss snort snuffle drip
bat eyes chasing flies

waiters flirt for their tips
minimum payment layaway
vines wrapped in concrete & rebar
your name playing soundtrack loop in my brain

there is no recession in heaven
diluted sorrow in a puddle
folding too early
feet remembered walking away

we are at homeostasis
no overload
no backing



Poems in the Pocket

Let’s not set the bar unsustainably high
you can disappoint them afterwards

isolating my track
sexual predator cat
soy bomb

love before caffiene is unconscionable
I can’t hear anything
I’m not connected
a cinder block wall in the middle of nowhere
I’m about to get an attitude

We were on our own scratchy island of red ants
when you eat lunch
with the queers
you know you’re a queer
victims of the bulldozer *
Going the other way
is always an option

I’m still looking for something
nothing says fun
like knives
crashing into portapotties
the Les Paul feels great in the hands too

Conversations cascade around the room
cops playing dress up
little girls shoes and stains
obnoxious middle aged women
fucked up fascination
It’s always 8:10 at Mom’s Diner

I put a fish poem in my pocket
It was fine until it got dry again
poppin and flabby – raggaefied

If you can initiate I can do it
I need to lay down the tracks in my brain
Shiny always sells

We’re running out of daylight
The birds, the cats and the Big Mac
the birds each get a meat patty
The cats never had a chance
kinda sad

Now it’s really MY turn

The crazy white bitch with the chain saw
I was playing with my Les Paul
the Mac Daddy of guitars
It can’t get any tighter

I didn’t know I had an option
I got its name in my pocket
Book of sparks
comfort knives
sensor in road
That cat’s half in the bag.

WeBiLo 6-14-09

* Philip DeLoach

mail order grooms

in WeBiLo world, there will be
mail order grooms
they will look good
know how to listen
& move all the heavy things

Mouse House

A lot of bad things happened
these last eighteen months
Another mechanic no longer
in the trusted mechanic zone
untouched water
body of work
pity devastated bull shit

I’m a bigheaded cat woman
willing to do the work to be your dog

I had the line
and now it’s gone
slacking in haikuland
There’s nothing better than ham in the morning
Hospital gown that explodes in the back
as oversized as their SUV’s

I have a dance that involves the hips and the keys
It’s used in religious ceremonies and barbecues
You have to forgive madness
ice jams
flammable tap water
fundable disabilities

we could underbelly up

In the 90’s I had five couches
tater tots on the side
500 calories for a buck
Russell would like a weird noodle place
sticky money

It’s a drag driving down Clark
Luna lazing on top of you
poems like sneezes
record busting snake
I should just stop talking

She has Albert Einstein hair
pulp is not the enemy
I got, like, a corner clean
Too late at night to leave a stuffed animal
She does the microwave
all this stuff bubbling in her mind

The dining room smells better,
but you’re not here
semi colons are my friends
Hermit crabs really do have feelings

I listen to my inner baby Jesus
burping up tabouli
junk in trunk
narco wars
let me know when it’s loaded

Once we put it on paper it has to be self-contained
A mouse house
my nose likes it
dead like Latin
Poetry i the Drug Mart Plaza
White Castle’s fine with me
a written treasure trove

Uh oh, shoe in the street
(waiting for the other shoe to fall)

It isn’t a stable if there is no Jesus
my poetry binder
tool shed Park Avenue
silk goes in the bathtub
The only way to replace lost false value
is to create new false value

smoking each other’s cigarettes and kissing

Are people calling me the proper noun?
sweaty guys in smoky suits
a little information stitck
a barstool n my mind
many more little notebooks

I forgot how to look
Americans are scared of hair
weird noodle love
influential parasite
I’m heavier; you’re lighter
upgrade the monsters

WeBiLo 4-5-09


I am not really touching
this glass
There is space between all matter
If I were to really touch
this glass
Matter would be destroyed

I am not really touching
There is space between us
If I were to really touch
We would be destroyed

Your breasts are known to me
no matter what you wear
Last night
in a dream
our breasts touched
and space opened
inside me

I will keep you there

WeBiLo 5-18-09



microsoft spellcheck
does not recognize CUNT
i think that is SAD!

WeBiLo 4-28-09

morning drive

sudden — this morning
cherry blossoms are poppin’
overnight success!