Category: Words
Prose and poetry, for the most part
ta . . .
ta ta ta.
i see your dripping distillations
(i see your bait dangle).
it’s half a tao, this tao.
yuck. sat a bit, some sissy fuss, lynn eating.
enough, aye, here.
the rear rug cranium jig gives agony—
so, have eight.
have eye dew.
you are a he-nine.
are! i scream,
i am your retro-nine!
for riches’ fee my ass is in the air. (you play coy.)
oh, suck muck, bays a troop of lancers.
fog is a smart-ass.
between walls, here i go.
making novellas of suns, i go.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
zup
zup til three this mornng
gzausted
got all deadlines met
or will when get to post office
mail stuff
gzausted
must go
miles to go
must go
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
it was the best of the worst of times.
a season when victorian faerie-paintings were all the rage.
slender maidens gazing with vacuous wonderment
at tiny insect humans dancing and cavorting,
glowing like irradiated mutant survivors
of defense department tests.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
when i grow up
i want to be a quantum mechanic
fixing photons
that may or may not be there
there’s a beautiful sunset today
maybe
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
this breakfast is nice
the berries
the roots
the little lizards roasted on a spit
but i have to get to work
go down in the cave
paint some more of those lions and rhinos
herds of horses galloping over the plains
if i don’t paint them
down there in the dark
they won’t come back
reborn and running next spring
okay
you can come
you can help if you like
i’ll let you hold the torch
if we have time
we’ll spray some outlines of our hands.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
subject vehicle southbound on interstate twenty-five at
or about the hour of three thirty-six a.m. was brought
to impact against the left retaining wall subject vehicle
immediately ricocheting off wall crossing interstate
at a contrary vector relative to the sparse traffic
at that hour made its way across the low guardrail along
right edge of interstate sliding at a high rate of speed down
the embankment and onto the exit ramp where it impacted
the ramp’s right guardrail with force sufficient to snap one thick wooden
supporting post in two uprooting the major segment with
a loud concrete-and-metal crunching grinding noise the sound and
vibration of which were sufficient to wake several persons
sleeping in the houses immediately to the west of
exit ramp subject vehicle twisted and crushed rested against
damaged right guardrail of exit ramp when a passing motorist
pulled over and stopped and called for help on his cell phone a second
passing motorist pulled over and stopped and approached subject
vehicle peering inside shrinking back turning covering her mouth
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
probably blow low-vent all night, rain-smell coming in.
no need for pumping water pump, little motor whirring,
always seeming on the verge of breakdown.
cat hiding under the car in the drive,
waiting for the slim possibility of a second supper.
no hunting sparrows or mice in this weather.
hummingbirds braving the spattering rain,
sipping from birds of paradise before sunset.
boys with basketballs under their arms,
standing at windows, watching the clouds.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
miss america got a gun, a thirty-eight special, and she knows how to use it.
miss america shot out the tires on the burglar’s car. she held on to her walker
and pulled out her pistol.
she is old now. when she was young and miss america,
her image was painted on the nose of a flying fortress.
she leaned on her walker, shot out the tires and told the crook,
one step closer and you’re a dead man.
she is miss america.
her image was painted on the nose of a flying fortress.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
jesus loves me, this i know,
for my teevee tells me so.
he is always watching me,
his older brother, suave and free.
jesus loves me, every day,
no matter what i do or say.
i can pull the wings off flies
or spread the pretty schoolgirl’s thighs.
jesus, love me, pretty please,
it’s not fair for you to tease
your older brother in this way—
be a sport; what do you say?
jesus, don’t you love me so?
if you don’t, where can i go
to flee the angel i’ve become
and hades’ low, incessant hum?
jesus, please, don’t leave me now.
i’ll swear to any kind of vow
to keep you in my rightful place,
gazing on your holy face.
damn it, jesus, turn around!
don’t turn your back—you’re all i’ve found
who would forgive me what i do—
jesus loved me—this i knew.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
i believe in
eating
drinking
pissing
shitting
sleeping
and fucking
everything else is pretty much
icing on the cake
both of which
(icing, cake)
i also believe in
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
my god! the lesser angels in assembly cried,
there has been a creation error! the scheme has not been found!
entry is required but access is denied!
the block is too large! the labels will not fit!
what about the handles? responded god.
there are no available handles,
moaned the angels of middle management.
there is no room—not enough memory—
the path is not found, and the internal error cannot be modified.
fix it, responded god.
oh god, the angels bawled,
the display is invalid and we cannot find the command,
we cannot find the correct copy, we cannot find the virtual objects—
and the clipboard data is not correct!
from the corners of chaos there came angelic shouts—
driver warning!
illegal characters!
maximum exceeded!
divide overflow!
non-unique forms found!
cancel, directed god, and exit without saving.
generation terminated! one angel called, relief in his sweet voice.
god looked upon his host of angels.
we’ll get it right next time, or there will be some fatal errors up here.
where’s lucifer? find him and tell him
i want to see him in my office, right away!
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
fungus ain’t a critter take no for an answer.
fungus ain’t gonna get up and go
just because you say go.
black mold on the rug, black mold in the carpet pile,
white mold growing on the underside of the bed,
boudoir smelling of the mushroom patch.
bleach, ammonia, soap—so what?
fungus the critter own the original deed,
ink indelible, parchment unburnable.
burn down the house? and all the goods inside?
fungus be a spore, float away on the smoke,
go live someplace else.
be waitin there when you arrive.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
look at all this food!
on top of the fridge, i’ve got
a bag of corn chips, a can of peanuts
(roasted & salted), and a box of crackers.
inside of the fridge, i’ve got
bananas, berries (blue, straw, and rasp),
corn still on the ears (three!),
a loaf of whole-wheat bread,
an entire pound of pure cheese,
and a gallon (!) of low-fat milk,
(fortified with vitamins).
it will be days, maybe even a week,
before i’m hungry again.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
blue slowly overcomes the gray, the morning birds sounding
songs from branches camouflaged by leaves emerging
out of night’s sharp darkness into view as green and lustrous, moving
lightly in dawn’s cool breeze. the cyclist speeds through intersections,
ignoring stop signs and watching out for early motorists doing the same.
the air smells in pockets of lilac, tobacco, coffee and bacon.
booted cats are crossing streets, heading home for breakfast.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
the universe
the whole shebang
the this, the that, & the other thing
the quarks, the clusters of galaxies
the songbirds descended from t. rex
the people descended from god knows where
the rocks sufficient as ever unto themselves
the vascular plants, the molds and fungi
the black holes, the white dwarves
the dark matter & the centers of stars
that which transcends all that a monkey could know
& that which substantiates the dance of the atomic apparitions
an incredible act of courage & joy
that there should be anything at all
& more than that, all that there is
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
i chose to tell you a story you could understand
you were children, barely awake
i knew if i told you fifteen billion years
you’d never believe me
and a number that big would be meaningless to you
you were just learning to count up to twenty
so i told you it took me a week
children’s stories for children
later i told you the story of how i was my own son and could die for you
and how there were some useful things you could learn if you thought about this
even took it to heart
more a story for adolescents than for children
a riddle to challenge growing minds
now you’ve come all this way—lately you’ve grown so fast!—
so let me tell you another story
you can’t have nothing unless you have something
and if you have anything you have to have everything
as for the rest of it, you’re on your own
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
house’s air laden
with fragrance of cooking bacon
two cats sleep cat-sleep on wall-to-wall carpet
siva dances on her infant in the kitchen
cracks eggs
stirs batter
slices peppers
squeezes oranges into juice
krishna marvels
stringing cobra heads into a garland
one cat wakes
one cat sleeps
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
okay, where are you? really?
that’s tee rider’s house. that’s funny.
i’m printing. you’re fine. there’s a
terrific echo in here.
music plays in the distance.
a woman laughs. glasses clink.
footfalls. some colognes, when mixed
with sweat, smell of insecticide.
there’s one right over here. a
door closes down a hallway.
voices murmur. the music
plays. he was working with a
whistling man. how’s everybody’s
monday in here? well, it’s monday.
that’s what i like to hear. the
music swells to a crescendo
of horns and drums. cymbals. a
woman, not the laugher, walks
away. thank you. that’s nice. thank
you. a man coughs. a man laughs.
a woman clears her throat. the
echo in here is immense.
sounds reflect from the echoes
of their echoes. thank you. thank you.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
pedro hooks
an angstrom minnow
swimming beneath
the microwaves
into the drifting
internet
and hauled aboard
a fresh-floating option
for gutting as this week’s
opening offering
cooked to within
a prayer of perfection
while letting the microchips
fall where they may
pedro hooks
an angstrom minnow
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
the man takes the broom out to the back porch
sweeps off autumn’s fallen leaves
the cat rubs against the man’s leg
sees the broom
scampers off
the man sweeps
the cat sits in the yard
watches the man
the cat’s tail swishes
this way
that way
fallen leaves rustle
the cat’s tail swishes
this way, that way
rustling fallen leaves
in the yard
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
distant whistle of the midnight freight
pulling into the rail yards downtown
burring rumbled whirr of freeway traffic
passing endlessly behind my house
murmuring voices of next-door neighbors
home from the show and not yet drunk
muffled clink of the spoon against
the bottom of my ice cream bowl
a cough from somewhere outside
a cricket from somewhere inside
the ticking clock on the bookshelf
(Published in High Street: Lawyers, Guns & Money in a Stoner’s New Mexico (2012, Outpost 19); copyright 2012, 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
we dug holes in the cold dirt, scooping small caves for our small superheroes
who rested there after battles with their slightly-larger adversaries.
the dirt was sandy, packed after infrequent rains, but crumbly,
powdery, and laced dun-red with iron oxides. the caves could easily collapse.
we played there every day, marking our caves with tumbleweed twigs or with pebbles,
or with the memory of a pattern of stones in the back wall—
or for my newest cave, almost the best, by stuffing it full with my wadded-up
brilliant red superman cape, surviving item of that year’s trick-or-treat.
a corner of the cape i left poking through an air-hole in the roof of the fragile superhero’s hide-out. my best friend, digging his cave beside mine,
said it was about time i finally took that stupid cape off.
the next day my cape was gone, my cave destroyed. my best friend’s cave
had been badly damaged. it looked as though godzilla had passed rampaging through.
the authorities took our report, but said there was really nothing they could do.
we felt the feelings of betrayal one will feel when fantasy battles with reality
and reality wins. a few minutes later we went to play ball.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
this morning, pre-sunrise, down the paved bike trail along the river,
by the sewage treatment plant, i pumped in seventh gear through a stretch
populated with countless gnats in hovering clouds. it was still too dark
to see them well, but they peppered my arms and face, ticked against
my biking helmet as i rode through their domain, my head down, eyes squinting
to keep them out, mouth barely open and my breathing shallow to keep them
out of my throat or god forbid my lungs.
a flycatcher i passed sprung from its fencepost perch and fluttered along the trail
in front of me, swimming through the air in a meander confounding to any euclidean,
the flycatcher snatching gnats from the air, breakfast served the old-fashioned way.
flycatcher, be there again tomorrow morning, in the dawn.
i shall be there also, inshallah.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
at an arcade, a sort of funhouse place, large, cavernous, dark,
there was an empty seat beside you. we were all of us players
of the funhouse video games to sit and wait in these seats
while the games were explained, then we would be allowed to play.
i sat beside you. you told me your name was kathy, but i knew this.
we first met when you were sixteen and i was seventeen.
you were still sixteen, but i was as i am now, except i was still married.
the funhouse had distorting mirrors. they all do.
it was a boy’s night out for me. i had wandered for the first time
into this funhouse. we sat and listened to the long instructions
as to how to play and win the games, but i didn’t care to win,
nor even much to play. i was there looking for what everybody
looks for but never can give a name to. you were spunky and flirtatious,
told me how good you were at the games, told me, you’ll see.
it was time to play. we got on our knees, as instructed, before
the video games. i didn’t know how to play mine, didn’t much care.
it was something to do with spaceships shooting other spaceships.
you finished yours before i finished mine. it turned out you hadn’t
done so well after all, but it was time for you to leave.
there was a man there, smiling and friendly and, if not young,
he was younger than i am now. i thought he was your boyfriend,
and i was disappointed until you told me you wanted to see me again
and asked me for my number. he remained smiling.
he may have been your father.
it was late. the funhouse was closing. we all had to leave.
i pulled out my wallet and fumbled for a card, finally finding one of my own.
i gave it to you and told you to call me at my office, not telling you
not to call me at home due to the wife. (but kathy, i don’t have a wife,
not any longer. haven’t had one for years.) you said you would call,
saying it in a way that means it is true, then you left.
i went outside, into the night where many other young persons
were making their ways back home, some getting into cars while others
waited for buses. i wandered the parking lot, looking for my car,
the funhouse workers eying with suspicion this old man
who had come to play with the children. i held my car keys in my hand,
but my car had been stolen while i was inside playing games.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
she asked me what sort of experience i had
i told her any sort that she could possibly want
she asked me what kind of wage i would need
i told her i would work for free and pilfer everything she owned
she asked me if i knew how to file
i told her there was no jail that could hold me
she asked me if i liked to drink
i told her i’d rather hold a pebble under my tongue
she asked me if i smoked in bed
i told her i would if she set me on fire
she asked me when i could start
i told her i had never stopped
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
all the betitted women, all the embosomed girls,
hippy-hippy-hippy shake me to my foundations as i walk,
to my roots while i stroll.
all the betwittering schoolgirls, all the emblazoning matrons,
swishers of sashays this way and that way,
slackening, skirting, bloused unto perfection.
all the bare-legged havens, all the hosieried homes,
dizzy me to staggering in this heat.
i duck inside to air-conditions, where i watch the walls and scrawl.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
i had a bowl of soup with susan at six
and a cup of coffee with cream
she also had a cup of coffee with cream
we watched the sun go down
the moon come up
we followed with fresh melon
berries
and bed
in the morning we’ll have eggs and toast
and more coffee with cream
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
1.
the woman i was in love with that year stopped along the trail,
pointed up and said, my boyfriend and i call that one penis rock.
i looked. she and her boyfriend had a way with names,
but he wasn’t with us.
later, looking down from the rim,
all the rocks looked to me like penis rock.
2.
further along the trail, we stopped for lunch.
she sat in the dirt, eating by clumps of wildflowers,
her long legs drawn up.
she shared her meal,
leaving water and saltines for the local gods.
3.
the trail back down was littered with apache tears.
thousands of apaches crying for thousands of years.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
i wanted to be a hero but there
were no openings. positions were
available only in heel. i would
have to start out there and work my way up,
a daunting corporate ladder for
any go-getter to climb, although it
looks to be guaranteed lifetime employment.
there might even be a pension at
the end, and meanwhile, along the way, there
will be everything i can possibly steal.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
i fall into the crazies now and then
then and again
again and again the crazies a chasm beside me a yawning thing
a virtual construct, definite reality
an appetite, a vacuum, a wallow for the wallowing in
even after washing off, the dirt seems ground into my skin
crazy dirt
crazy, crazy dirt
(Published in High Street: Lawyers, Guns & Money in a Stoner’s New Mexico (2012, Outpost 19); copyright 2012, 2023 by Tetman Callis.)