Sunday, March 6, 2016

Victor Clevenger- Two Poems

Bio:  Victor Clevenger spends his days in a Madhouse and his nights writing poetry and short stories from the kitchen table of his ex-wife's home. Selected pieces of his work have appeared at, or is forthcoming in, Chiron Review; The Beatnik Cowboy; Dead Snakes; Blink Ink; Zombie Logic Review; Rat’s Ass Review; Lady Chaos Press; Your One Phone Call; BAD ACID LABORATORIES, INC.; Horror Sleaze Trash, among several others.  His latest collection is titled, In All These Naked Pictures Of Us.

The Girl in the Flannel Shirt. We Flirt.
It was something out of this world,
yet still so simpleminded & normal,
like blinking, or drinking.
"Oh.  You're smoking the top notch
cigarettes now," she said with a sexy,
rich tone & a sarcastic smile—eyes
wide, tapping her fingernails against
the glass surface of the showcase to
Bowie’s, I’m Afraid Of Americans.
She stopped tapping, puckered her
lips, stepped back & in a slow motion
windmill windup, she tossed the pack
of smokes my way.  She left a plum-
hued lip impression (with a lip ring
void) on the cellophane.  I caught the
pack at chest level.
"Thank you," I said to her, placing
it into my left breast shirt pocket.
I knew that she would do it all again
tomorrow, & the next day.  She has
left her lip impressions in a great
variety of shades above my heart for
damn near a thousand days now.
Opening the door & walking out into
the street, I stepped on a wet, rolled up
newspaper with yesterday’s news smeared
all together in undecipherable words.
It squished under my boot & I knew
that I was now 23 hours & 48 minutes
away from my something out of this world,
yet still so simpleminded & normal,
like blinking, or drinking.

When She is Mid-Menstrual and Untouchable

Last night I
wandered the
desert sands;
the holes under
the rocks were
deep and occupied
with serpents.
I intruded,
sacked out,
hankering bones,
and timorous.
We whispered
to each other
in long tongues,
touched, and
sighed like lovers.
The morning dew
crept into the
crevices as the
sun's strings
were pulled.
I climbed out
at eight o'clock
and rubbed my
four day unshaven
face as I stripped
the wet dreamed
sheets off of my
throwing them into
the corner with my
I ran my fingers
softly through my
ruffled hair, and
then laid back down
shivering until eleven.

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