Poetry by Benjamin Niespodziany
Locust Jeans
Bullseye Tycoon
My talk show's an excuse
to conduct drunk magic
on prime time television. I chew
down molotov cocktails
and use the glass shards
as darts to throw at light
bulbs across the room. It's the reason
the network named my show
Bullseye Tycoon. Before the cameras
roll, I smoke an ounce
of cactus dust, my breath
flammable enough to burp
a blowtorch if the tone starts
to snore. Or I'll blow up
my hands with dynamite
sticks, leave behind no scars. No
marks. To kickstart
each episode, I grab
a hungry alligator by the tail
and sail it across the stage to a sleeping sea
lion. The collision creates
hope, a condor made of smoke that flies
over the live audience and announces
our guests for the late night segment:
a rabbi, an armless palm
reader, and a botanical
garden nervous about fitting
properly on my show's tiny couch:
It's the size of a soda can.
It's made out of beetle mouths.
//
Cataract Wings
Chamomile day naps to collapse the dead Blink twice
for cartoons three times to fill your ears with sand Put
your head in the microwave Party pigeons fly through
town with bags of pills staple themselves to window
sills when the cyclones arrive Hum Titanic the ocean a
divine drunk Locusts can't breathe that far north so we
buried them underneath the gravel waited for our claws
to grow and find more wet wings Undo your bra after
enough drinks It's how we unwind it's how we run to
catch the only bus willing to find for us an island I sat
out in the rain for a while because they turned off our
water Thanked a fake slumlord for the bath for the
drink I promise to do better sometime next week Have
you napped within a pantry? Have you mapped out your
future on the roof of a car with crayons and a cracked
ruler? My electricity still works I found out after biting
like how my dog chewed when trapped in a room full of
fireworks A Dalmatian named Darby we tossed in a barn
full of college girls I skip the trip to Hawaii and tell
everyone I'd rather kiss the bees wear old jeans steal
prescription sunglasses from retirement homes I send
notes to my family members about how cataracts are the
best thing that's happened to me out here on this farm
//
Bullseye Tycoon
My talk show's an excuse
to conduct drunk magic
on prime time television. I chew
down molotov cocktails
and use the glass shards
as darts to throw at light
bulbs across the room. It's the reason
the network named my show
Bullseye Tycoon. Before the cameras
roll, I smoke an ounce
of cactus dust, my breath
flammable enough to burp
a blowtorch if the tone starts
to snore. Or I'll blow up
my hands with dynamite
sticks, leave behind no scars. No
marks. To kickstart
each episode, I grab
a hungry alligator by the tail
and sail it across the stage to a sleeping sea
lion. The collision creates
hope, a condor made of smoke that flies
over the live audience and announces
our guests for the late night segment:
a rabbi, an armless palm
reader, and a botanical
garden nervous about fitting
properly on my show's tiny couch:
It's the size of a soda can.
It's made out of beetle mouths.
//
Cataract Wings
Chamomile day naps to collapse the dead Blink twice
for cartoons three times to fill your ears with sand Put
your head in the microwave Party pigeons fly through
town with bags of pills staple themselves to window
sills when the cyclones arrive Hum Titanic the ocean a
divine drunk Locusts can't breathe that far north so we
buried them underneath the gravel waited for our claws
to grow and find more wet wings Undo your bra after
enough drinks It's how we unwind it's how we run to
catch the only bus willing to find for us an island I sat
out in the rain for a while because they turned off our
water Thanked a fake slumlord for the bath for the
drink I promise to do better sometime next week Have
you napped within a pantry? Have you mapped out your
future on the roof of a car with crayons and a cracked
ruler? My electricity still works I found out after biting
like how my dog chewed when trapped in a room full of
fireworks A Dalmatian named Darby we tossed in a barn
full of college girls I skip the trip to Hawaii and tell
everyone I'd rather kiss the bees wear old jeans steal
prescription sunglasses from retirement homes I send
notes to my family members about how cataracts are the
best thing that's happened to me out here on this farm
//
Benjamin Niespodziany is a night librarian at the University of Chicago. He runs a multimedia art blog known as [neonpajamas] and wishes he knew more magic tricks. Back in December, he released the chapbook Dress Code Aquarium and plans to release his next chapbook, Ants on Stilts, at the end of May. He has had work published in formercactus, Occulum, Ghost City Press, tenderness, yea, and more.
