Press
An international publication dedicated to all arts and cultures
David Smith's latest book, co-authored with Scott Wannberg, is Rockets Redglare:
the Handsome Duke Deal and Kid Mingo Letters. He is also the author of Closer
to Jesus. He created a limited edition broadside collaboration with visuals by S.A.
Griffin of one of his poems, Genocide Sutra. You should buy two or three copies. His
next book, White Time, will include the entire collection of the Hotel Malaria galleries.
In the 1980's he was publisher and editor of Ouija Madness Press and Ouija Madness Magazine. The best bartender you will ever know, he can pour a Singapore Sling that
will make your mother weep with joy.
You And Your Sometimes Crooked Smile
The Spotted Hyena is a deceptively ravenous motherfucker.
Rarely more than 140 pounds, with deadly jaws,
it eats its prey while the vanquished is still alive.
A land shark, practically reptilian in its nonchalant nature,
it is one of the few mammals
that cannot wait-out the demise of its kill.
An impatient bastard, the Adolph Eichmann of the Serengeti.
It is true, that the flesh is deceitful above everything else.
Roman bacchanals would center on a presentation
of sausages made from stuffed sow's womb.
A delightfully simple dish of minced pork,
chicken, pheasant, rabbit and peacock;
ground with pepper, cumin and rue.
Pounded in a mortar until very fine.
Stuffed into the sow's womb with peppercorns and pine nuts.
Sautéed in olive oil and stock
with leeks, aniseed and a bit of dill.
Surprisingly light and easy on the waistline.
Sabine, Nero's wife, preferred them served with fresh plum sauce.
A perfect main course before an afternoon orgy.
I have enjoyed them many times myself.
We serve them every Flag Day for visiting friends and relatives.
They're particularly tasty re-heated as a second-day leftover.
Heretics of the highest order,
we rich folks always enjoy a good joke
and a hearty laugh
while we eat.
© d. smith, 2008
High Stepping Proudly Through a Plate Glass Window
Like Miss
she can peel a crawfish
with one hand.
"Well you know Mr. Parks,
when I get married and have children,
I'd like to raise them like Madonna
has raised her family. It's not so such much that
children are an accessory, but they can enhance
your sense of style. Just look at Princess Grace."
Though winter is her favorite season,
it really is hell on earth for the restless.
High fashion begins with:
Faith
Hope
and Charity
And ends with:
Integrity
Self-control
and Rhinestones.
In her pocketbook she carries a photograph
of her dear father, lying in his casket,
his dentures still in his mouth. A small pyramid
of embalming powder perched on the tip of his nose.
Labels sewn to the outside of clothes
are an incredibly gauche breech of perfection.
"Yes Mr. Parks. I do suppose that the war in
was inevitable. You know, because hatred seems
to sustain itself very well, without benefit of cause."
When she bothers to dream, it's usually in casual reference
to her childhood. Wild negroes on horseback, slowly trotting
past her bedroom window, their hair a ring of golden fire.
Whispering sweet nothings into the absolute night.
© d. smith, 2008
all copyrights belong to David Smith
