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EXORCIST: PART 2

you never see

the aftermath of an

exorcism – just the

ruddy happy family so

relieved the spirit’s gone but

 

what about the ribs that

banged against the ceiling or the

joints that took a beating from

contorting like a crab the

 

spine must a be a mess with

crushed up crumbled vertebrae

from the head’s violent

spinning like a

dreidel on speed the

 

spleen is likely

ruptured from haphazard

levitation and the

brain bounced and

bruised a ping pong

in the skull – and then

 

there’s the mental side from

acting like a jerk a

long list of sorrys and

amends the soul

 

could use some soothing

to coax it back in place to

recover from the

houseguest that

was literally

from hell – of course

 

all this jazz is as seen on

TV – but demons don’t

restrict themselves to

fiction.

 

-ryn gargulinski.12.04.13

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Ode to Oleander

Oleander is neither

rhythmic nor kind – with

strangely stressed syllables in a

four-count array that don’t play

well in a couplet or haiku – oleander

 

killed a giraffe once at the

tucson zoo when a worker

thought it fit to

feed it some

of the crisp green leaves that I

used to admire or even

poke at until

I knew the truth – oleander

 

falls into one of those

arizona fallacies that

newbies wrongly believe like it

never gets cold in winter or

your dog will know not

to chew on cactus or

oleander is too handsome

to kill you – the two

 

oleander in my yard have long been

strangled or marred one

chopped to the quip to make

room for a table and the

other blighted with a fungus that

makes polypy chunks stunts its

growth and otherwise

mangles its appearance the

 

oldeander of my

neighbor blooms and

bends above and beyond the

fence looking luscious for

an instant and then

plopping its poisonous

petals on the soil

beneath where nothing

now grows without

turning haggard, then

drying up and

dying oleander

 

should be

outlawed a

friend once said told me

all the oleander in the

state was falling prey

to a plague swiping down

to annihilate and

maim them but they are

 

still alive well and thriving

in pots for sale

at home depot where

a sales guy warned me

anew about the oleander

woes how his dad’s friend

chopped and burned a

big pile of the branches – then went

blind

from the smoke for a year.

Ryn Gargulinski, 06.08.13

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How I Deal with Death (a poem)

I fear it.

I embrace it.

 

I let it keep me up at night.

I poke at it with a stick.

 

I get skeeved when I have to

touch it and pull out an

old pair of pajamas to

wrap up my rat

and bury

him.

 

I abhor it.

I adore it. I really

don’t adore it I just

liked the way it

rhymed.

 

I hang doll

heads from my

ceiling fan a

shrunken skull from

my rearview

window.

 

I want it to go away.

I make it come

for bugs.

 

I let it sit there on

the porch I

shoo it with

a swatter.

 

I try to tell myself it is

the ultimate spiritual

experience and there’s no

way to get out of it yet I

 

still

 

freak out to think

I may one day

not be me. I

 

draw

cute little

skeletons

on tricycles.

 

Ryn Gargulinski, 05.01.13

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JOE: a bumble bee poem

beware of bees sign
bees

I felt bad – for a moment – to

watch the bee twitch to

see his two front legs

flail crazed on his

back jacked

from the cup

I had smushed

through his middle I

 

felt bad – for an instant – as

I crushed his bee head

with a rock – that

 

buddha stuff

says not to

kill things & I

shall very well go

to hell but it was

such a human

reaction when his

fuzzy bee bottom

grazed my

lip as I took a

sip of coffee & then

 

glanced in the

cup to see

the bee

so gleeful

& merry

as he

tainted the

last drop

of joe.

 

ryn gargulinski.02.17.13

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