Archive for the dead poets Category

“I stand upon my desk to remind myself that we must constantly look at things in a different way–Dead Poets Society” …Hugh Fox, Todd Moore, FN Wright, Joie Cook, Harry Calhoun, Scott Wannberg, Doug Draime.

Posted in dead poets with tags on December 3, 2015 by Scot
Todd Moore
October 30, 2009 @Deuce Coupe
peckinpah took
ben johnson
aside while
filming the
battle of
bloody porch
in the wild
bunch & sd
you looked
good in
that last
shot but it
wasn’t in
tense enough
what the
hell are you
talking abt
replied i
broke my
finger wor
king that
gun i don’t
give a fuck
if you broke
yr dick
make it
look like
you are
falling in
love w/that
because it’s
going to
be yr angel
of death
Night calling by Harry Calhoun
September 28, 2010–Deuce CoupeTrain horn wrapping gently around the ears,
moody, yearning and dark, crowding softly
over the eyes and passing through the nostrils
past the borders of simple awareness,
as if it has become part of the soul,
a soul filled with soft midnight sound,
and the clack of the train behind it
the last sweet knock of sentience
between now and our blessed sleep.


Channeling Norman Mailer by Doug Draime
July 10, 2009–Deuce CoupeAfter the cops tracked
him down in
Bogota, he confessed
on the plane ride
back to the U.S.
to stabbing his wife
to death with a
steak knife, but there
was sort of a disclaimer
attached. He swore he
was channeling
Norman Mailer, but
that he couldn’t
stop himself
at just one stab,
like Mailer did
But, he said, it was
a gruesome, bloody mess,
and that he wished
he’d be able to
William Burroughs,
instead. And he would’ve
just shot her
in the head.



F. N. Wright, February 23, 2011 @Deuce Coupe


one of my best
from diapers
to levis
both of us being
scouted by major
league scouts

me a hard throwing lefty
with a nasty curveball
& johnny who had all
the five tools they
look for
especially speed

fastest mother fucker
I ever saw

small town politics
got me kicked off
the american legion
baseball team
just before our junior
year of high school

I forced my mother’s hand
& made her sign the papers
so I could enlist in the marines
on my seventeenth birthday

when johnny graduated
from high school he had
a baseball scholarship offer
from a major university
& a decent bonus to sign
with the cardinals

I was in nam when I received
his letter asking what I thought
he should do & first chance I had
I wrote & urged him to go to college
or he could get his ass drafted
before he ever saw busch stadium

stupid fucker did what I would’ve done
& signed with the cardinals &
had moved up to triple a ball

when he was drafted & I was
in nam for my second tour

I was back in Tennessee
when johnny came home
but he wasn’t marching

he couldn’t because he’d lost
both legs to a mine in nam

& I’d left most of my sanity
over there but hid it well

when we first met at a bar for beers
I said, “what are you going to
do now? you sure as hell ain’t
playin’ anymore baseball, you
stupid asshole.”

He laughed & said, “I’m learning
to run the bases on my hands.”

he killed himself opening day
of the following season.


Black Lung Hallelujah by Scott Wannberg
July 26, 2009 @Rusty Truck

Dig deep inside the hurt Earth
and when China finds you
tell all its people
you know a great place for them
to all stay.
The wars claim they are going in for the night
but for them the night never really rides up.
the night got pulled over for speeding
and the magician can’t find any rabbits in town
that will allow him to
pull them out of anything.

July 16 2009


Oh Susanna


To a King of Sorts by Joie Cook
August 18, 2009

All of the women
Who have opened your heart with their wounds
Call to you now
From the last row of the dark cinema

Kelly with her enormous breasts
Chelsea with her thin, swaggering hips
Marlena, the poet, the one you loved best,
Who will suffer the most when you die

All the women of your magnum opus
Some call pornography
You imagine them breathing softly
As you sleep with your wife
Hear their sighs
As you retire into middle age – a sexless marriage
A mortgage and children you never see

They were so beautiful then
Your naked dreamers
Forever preserved
The women, who return again and again
A gift to the aching now of your fevered past:

Celluloid flesh reminders of your lost empire.

Joie Cook
San Francisco


April 11, 2010 @Rusty Truck

Why does the collection of my dead always come back now,
some places still a glorious blend of yellows and reds, others j
just black trunks and empty limbs in the last November rain, just on
the edge of snow?
“Howya doin’, Hughie?”
Bespeckled, swollen-legged, practical black-shoed Gram, or
mon mere, “Will you please pass the sugar,” making
it sound like “Fire!,” mon pere, Mr. Double-Belly,sucking
on a cigarette or (special occasions) cigar, turkey all over
the tables in my brain, and trees going up, wreathes, Bless
me, Father, for I have, God rest you merry gentlemen…wanting
Mary Joan and Shirley and Guiliana and Patricia and Dolores
and Shirley all back,Lynn coming in the midnight door to
spend the night in my high-heaven hallucinogenic dreams,
the Chicago-LA-NYC-Boston-Paris-BC streets