Paul Siegell

photo by Matt Walker

With her machine gun soaking in breast milk, she’s smoking
Marlboros before the Ouroboros. I put my prayers in zero. A
laughingstock on TV, he took an arrow to each elbow, hasn’t
been the same since. Johnnie Cochran holds up the cock ring,
shows the jury, calls it “Exhibit X.” Tattletale scavenger hunt.
“That’s diabolical,” he says. “Well, sayonara, Aram Saroyan!”
Nowadays, converting your aversions into druthers is nothing
like converting your perversions into the good old missionary.

Two weeks ago Leonardo DiCaprio dreamed that Cleopatra
was hosting karaoke night at the KOA Kampsite just outside
Des Moines, Iowa. Lust was inevitable. So was the “OUT OF
ORDER” sign that Renoir painting on the outhouse door. They
were giving pretzels for prizes, but instead of salt they had hot
pepper flakes from the chiropractor factory, which helped him
make sense of why, wild in the next campsite over, old Pontius
Pilate was doing Pilates. Manna from Heaven scavenger hunt.
Weird thing was, he had the same exact dream again last night.

Paul Siegell is the author of three books of poetry: wild life rifle fire (Otoliths Books, 2010), jambandbootleg (A-Head Publishing, 2009) and Poemergency Room (Otoliths Books, 2008). He is an editor at Painted Bride Quarterly, and has contributed to The American Poetry Review, Coconut, EOAGH, NOÖ, Rattle and many other fine journals. He has also been featured in two national music and culture magazines, Paste and Relix, as well as the Philadelphia City Paper and elsewhere exciting. Kindly find more of Paul's work at ReVeLeR @ eYeLeVeL.

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