alienap

a nap
is the name
of a little
alien
i once knew
and now i
never see it anymore.

sometimes it
slivers into the room
secretly,
watching me cook,
play with my youngest,
cutting the grass,
toiling about the studio,
throwing a shirt in the dryer
or cleaning a bit
around the toilet
and when it
is a bit loud,
i flop my head in it's direction
to see the slithering silhouette
gone.

i used to spend a lot of
time with my alien nap pal,
and now i have forgotten
what his
green countenance looks like.

hope he has
enough gas to
ufo back to
his
sleep filled universe.

latest rejection & ustream feed ..

"I like the voice in these poems, but they’re a bit too glib. I think they need more work."

Dear Joe,
Thank you for sending your submission to us. We've decided not to publish your work at this time. But please try us again.

The Editor, Evening Street Review online at www.eveningstreetpress.com

**

USTREAM FEED LINK - JOE DIMINO SPOKEN WORD

12-22-12

everyone is
acting quite calm
about the fact that
we have under 2 years
left to live it
up here on
the big blue ball
in the perched skies.

with both Cherokee
and Mayan
ghosts laughing
in unison high
above our hairy scalps,
i find myself lookin'
around at odd times
lately to see if maybe
there will be that
one crazy human with
deteriorated nails,
wild eye brows,
twitchy bottom lip
mulling incessantly
how it's going
to shake down
on the inevitable
dip
of
12-21-12,
but i see nothing.

i look at all the birds
minced with both military
and commercial aircrafts ripping
through the skies
in a hurry to see if they
have any more information
than a few bubbles emitting
from a lava lake in
the bowels of Yellowstone.

other times,
i look at a dead pigeon in
the road
wondering if thousands more are
lined on either side of
me in some destructive
orchestra of
used time
telling me that
time is the only real enemy.

then,
i wonder how useless
it will be to worry about
how much money i have in the
bank account and how i
should maximize every cell
around me to scream into a
cacophony of sound
celebrating how little
left we have down here.

then,
the movie ends,
i go to sleep,
wake
and remember that
all of it was a dream
if i didn't already have a dream
that i had one last thing to do ..

my wife and i need to find
several grocery stores during
the blocks of free time we don't have
to spend with each other to
find all the products we can in
the grocery store with the
expiration dates of 12-21-12
and sell them all as a set on
e-bay for hundreds of thousands
of dollars so that
we can use
it for
a fuck load of
a celebration
beginning on
the morning of
12-22-12
and
right on into the
damned sunset
for
the
rest of our
apocalyptic
echo of lives ..

joefiles 129 (click the image to download)

128

reunion housewarming

hello the fluff
of the
written world,
mr. poetry.

you walked out the door
and forgot to hide the
lock key.

now inside,
i find the innards of used sweat,
bad contractors,
older kids,
blood from forgotten scabs,
the detris of beauty,
and my
foggy reflection in
the mirror.

as i traverse floor to
floor of
my
wonderful
abode of mr. poetry,
i forget
myself,
then remember myself
in lighter versions
of deja vu.

and as i ready to
rifle straight into
the spokes of
light
out of
the light of mr. poetry,
i hold up
short.

stop.

turn around
and come straight
back into
the
heartbeat tornado
to squeeze a little more
from the used lemon
rhine
because
that's how
we
fix
things
around
this
house.

the polite rejection (a good break-up)

Joe,

Thank you for allowing us the opportunity to read your work. We enjoyed your poetry, found them very amusing. Unfortunately, we only consider prose poetry. If you have any, we encourage you to submit it for consideration.

Thank you again and best of luck.

Ian Golding, Editor
The Interrobang
www.theinterrobang.org