States

Current States of Language:

Alabama Al: “Lab, am I Alaska? I’ll ask ya if Arizona air is own, yeah? Arkansas are can saw. Los Angeles lozenge all less. Law sand gels us.”

Colorado caller, “Raw Dough:” Connecticut can neck tick cut?

“Delaware aware” – Adele. “Florida floored a floor, duh. Georgia a gorgeous gorge, George.”

“Hawaii, huh? Why? Eee! Idaho? I don’t know.”

 “Illinois ill onion in Indiana,” Windy Anna, “Iowa eye. Oh… wha–? Kansas can sass, can Kansas? Kentucky can tuck key, can’t’ya key?”

Louisiana Lu: “Easy Anna. Maine, may’n Maryland mare, a lend? Massachusetts masses chews, sits. Master, choose zits.”

Michigan Misha: "Gain. Minnesota men is soda."

“‘Mississippi misses Mrs. Sippy Missouri’ – Miss or he?
“Montana a tan mon. Nebraska nub, brass ska. Nevada snuff, had a New Hampshire. New hemp dryer? New Jersey knew juror, see?
                  New Mexico noon.
Mix, sicko. New York knew your core new. Nor North Carolina, nor thick air. Align a North Dakota. No Earth? Duh, quota. Ohio? Ojai? Oh. Oklahoma oak “le hom.” A Oregon’s organic organ organs. Pennsylvania––re: pence sells veins, ya? Rhode Island road I lend. South Carolina, sew thick arrow, line a South Dakota, sew -THUD- a coda.” 
– Tennessee Williams.

Texas text is Utah newt talk.
Vermont, firm aunt:
    “Virginia, verge gin, ya?
    Washington, wash sheen tin.
    West Virginia, verge in your west Wisconsin whisk.”

On sin: Wyoming, why owe Ming?

Scraps

This post is a bit different. Over the course of my occupation at Magic Mountain & Walmart, I would bring a folded up piece of paper to work (not my writing notebook because it would get greasy at MM & ridiculed at Walmart). I have a stack the size of a tiny bible (which is where I stored them, now the binding in the bible is all screwy) and decided, out of the blue, to go through them. Here are scattered images, lines, thoughts that I discovered that somehow interested me.


My 13 year old
dog needs surgery
for a tumor on his lip;
it balloons
in the sun, grows dark.
Do I have to pay
for the surgery if he...
dies on the table?
No more whispering
in his ear what a good dog
he was.

***
From Breast to bottle
No you can't speak to Jackie Chan (Damn,
he ain't gonna be in Rush Hour 3)
Hello Benjamin!
Collection of vegetables.

***
Papa loves Mambo, but what about Mom?

Is a double cross twice as religious?

***
Left/right K
N, but backwards.

***
Don't worry about the drive, your feet know the pressure to get home.
the song of the windows
Like the persistent sound
of clipping your toenails.

***
To My Brother (Who
Never Had a Disney Pass)
I'm sorry we left
early when you wanted
to stay until midnight.
The lights were just
turning on & the sun
just setting. I apologize.

***
But

***
I'm a junkie for the pricks

***
6:23-6:38

I drove by two girls in sleeping bags, camping on a driveway. White flashlights in hand pointing to the stars, laughing. What do they talk about? Do the stars listen? I only ever camped in the woods, back never kissed concrete. The woos stars were always beaming, but lacked orange fluorescent glow, flashlights, the sound of cars driving by, wondering.

***
fifty-eight year old with lover body of a sixteen year old volleyball playing bird.

***
Shhh...
"Do you know them?"
"No."
"I know you."
"You do?"
"Yeah, from school."
"Did you know her?"
"No."

***
A mushroom cloud of yellowed
grease stains the tacked on wallpaper
Onion rings evaporate at 350 degrees
Buffalo sauce vapors blitzkrieg nostrils
Chemical warfare  (From what I can remember/tell, this is the first note I ever wrote at work)

Excuses For Not Going to Underwear Parties: Written While on Break at Work (& Transcribed at 2 a.m.)

Excuses For Not Going to Underwear Parties: Written While on Break at Work (& Transcribed at 2 a.m.)

Naked comrades,
& their gyrating
music curves,
arouses your fingers down
your clothed stomach.
Shave hair through fabric,
turn to silk.
Feel bitten-at
nails scratch fragile flesh
away from clothes.
Remember your genitals
bled when you last shaved
& forgot...
Lay down. Spread legs.
Bend knees. Flip legs
over head. Grab sack.
Hold breath...
Inhale sharply as one,
testicle, then
the other, slips,
hugs tightly in fleshy nest
back up in body. Hold
there. Tape shaft back, balls
up. Finally,
get ready to go:
Eat your heart out, John
& Davy. This baby
came out
with bra & panties...
But five o'clock pubic
shadow gnaws,
chafes, pre-
vents enjoyment
& you haven't
got a thing to wear
anyway.

The Borough Boys: Part 1: D-Day of the D-D-Dead

The Borough Boys: Part 1: D-Day of the D-D-Dead

Despite all the activity within the first month of the uprising, I can't remember what month it was. The year was two thousand and two, the year of our lord, and, then artist, P!ink had just had a hit with "Get the Party Started". The P.O.O., or Point of Outbreak, as the special military unit calls it, was Meadows Elementary School's sixth grade dance. One kid, who all the girls had nicknamed "Fuzz" because of his buzz haircut and the guys because of his very early onset puberty, was inventing a move on the dance floor he was hoping would attract his crush, Mallory. P!ink sung on and the CD only skipped once.

The following week was to be that class's graduation. I arrived on the scene a week after that. From the only intel. that the commanding officer had at the time, it appeared that someone had been distributing meth at the party via the fruit punch.

The school cafeteria had been on lockdown since.

"What's it look like in there?" I overhead a cop asking his superior.

"We haven't seen the inside since the third day." That's what I was there for. I was their inside man. The last person who had gone in was the 6th grade math teacher. She survived twenty minutes longer than the science teacher, but if elementary school math had taught me anything, it taught me: 1 dead science teacher + 1 dead math teacher X 3 piles of bodies = 1 hot mess.

At the time, the military figured that if the students were responding to authority in some way, why not go for broke? I was the President, rather, I was to portray the president. We couldn't actually get permission for my title to be the President of the United States, so I was to be the President of Bulgaria. Close enough.

A majority of the story is the same as every bankheist-hostage-negotiation-movie, so why bother with all the details? It's what's on the inside that matters.

"Do you remember that national tragedy a year ago, Dirk?" Sergeant Dirk Ruffin asked me as the team prepped for my insertion.

"How could anyone possibly forget? And don't they keep telling us 'Never Forget'?" Sergeant Dirk Ruffin had the same name as me, but there was no relation or similarity. I just called him "Tool." I had once caught him making out with his secretary in his office and he made a similar grunt to Tim "The Toolman" Taylor, hence the name.

"I'm not talking about 9/11! I'm talking about yoga. Watch yourself in there, I think these kids are classically trained in yoga."

"Okay, so why am I wearing KFC buckets as shoes? More importantly, why are they full of mashed potatoes?"

"Are you questioning my authority, son?" I hated it when he called me son. "Are you questioning the only person to enter that building and get out alive? I think I know what you need to be prepared. We're hoping that when they go for your feet, the food will distract them. All kids love mashed potatoes."

"Without gravy?" I retorted.

"Crap. Call up the Colonel and get some gravy down here, stat!"

Creative

Creative

I use to sit
alone and write
horrible, dreadful
poetry. Now I
prefer standing.

Will

Will

To my little brother, I leave
...what's left in my closet
...and clothes drawers
For my friends to fight about, I leave
...books and films and posters
To my older brother, I leave
...the scraps
...of memories of our past friendship.
To my father, I leave nothing.
To my mother, I leave
...some semblance of shame.

But what did any of you ever leave
...me?

Ars Poetica

Ars Poetica

I am Zachary Harris
I am white
I am a slave to my education
I am whipped by grades
I am lynched by teachers

I am Zachary Harris
I am a slow runner
I am duck footed
I am pigeon footed
I am weighed by scales

I am Zachary Harris
I am huge kings fan
I am royalty
I am your majesty
I AM ZOD! KNEEL BEFORE ME!

I am Zachary Harris
I am not a musician
I am Ray Charles
I am tone deaf
I am Helen Keller
I am Kurt Cobain

I am Zachary Harris
I am failing English
…go figure.

I am Zachary Harris
I am a poet!
I am superior
I am your teacher
I am grading your poem
I am giving you an F
I am giving myself a B.

"I remember"

My Mom

I remember my mom before the divorce. I asked my mom if I could see a psychiatrist and she said she wasn't sure how she felt about it. I asked my mom if I could go to an optometrist and she said "We'll see." I asked my mom why silence speaks volumes and she gave me the 's' volume of the encyclopedia. I asked my mom, "Why" and she said, "Equals mx+b." I told my mom that my girlfriend thought androgyny was sexy and she said, "Well then, you're her man...or woman." I asked my mom where I should see myself in ten years and she said, "In a mirror." I told my mom that I was into large girls and she said I should open up an Elephant Bar with only voluptuous waitresses. Like Hooters with tusks. I asked my mom what was for dinner and she screamed, "I've had enough of you! I'm going to go into the kitchen, grab a knife, and cut myself…some ham." I asked my mom why I had no siblings and she said, "Well, I've thought about it, but I've aborted the idea." I asked my mom why dad left and she gave me the 's' volume of the encyclopedia again. I asked my mom if she loved me and she called me a fag. I asked my mom to meet my girlfriend and she said, "She's probably full of bologna." I asked my mom why she never gives me a straight answer and she made another joke about my sexual orientation. I tried to tell my mom a joke: "Mom, when did the Asian go to the dentist?" she said, "When he was scheduled." I remember my mom before last Christmas.