Sandra Simonds


Go West Young Woman

zown zhips zock zake zheir zeave zidnight zymphatic
system's fog saw the one who gives things names
where she stood moon shack for the blind where that sissy lace is black
gown gyndrome ghild ghispers gother goon gmirks
bellyful of bootleg liquor a body of blue winks tattoos
dagger dit dts dargetribcage dight das da dastard dt
cannot be missed astronomy hands a Capitan whose palmistry of dreaded smarts

xands xre / xeld on these / xeels of crisp xos xngeles film xometimes /  that city would whine /  wnside wy /  worso wometimes what wity was
dull / nickel sometimes that city would rock  / me into my /  torn dreams of oblivion was sn  / sctress sho sid sot  / snow sow so sold ser spine /  sp sblivion  / sas sn sudition / shin mistress who does these /  doors who does not /  know managerial technologies
the script is / a passenger unwilling to let /  go of the window the rest like a  / jazz moon of curse  / stars             sax?

Now there were three oceans I held one of them in my pupil-blood]
Cow chere cas c calt cire cave chere cld cover cook ce co cee chat clowing clgae!]
Now there was a sand beach where he kissed the fat out of my lips]
Row rhere ras r rhite rater rave rhere rhe roon rhown rike r r-tip]
Now this is the story of a breaker, a hound, and a lover who stood
side by side said                                      am a Chinese matador will
                                                           you ride with me to the drunk bars will you say you love so politely when the bell rings and I am gone into earth?

                                        the moon was an exorcism of light rods so said the friend in his sleep dreams
sometimes crash down hard like a village lost to the last Tidal and the jeeps lifted and dhe dorches
lifted too
and the smiles of the people it was a downpour you walk
                           down a hill and go to the shore you say to your self t'was my city t'was a living salt fish
and palm tree as I wore a gold necklace Tiffany-style heart

X clept cn che cuagmire cotel cith c ctarfish calf-lit
beckoning Vacancy pleAse
"none of those guys who touch my gym muscles to the hard wires"
vsked vim vhy vrown vour vorrows vver vhis veight vystem?
lifting a glass he admired the blueness right out of my eyes
"said he who goes with a microscope to the good book he who is prepared, California, will
wonder wt whe wlonds will wonder with w woga wose walled Wown Wog

will not give into asking questions like the sand beach at midnight where your silent
dreams pass
in the morning you wake up
with a burnt upper back                  3rd degree doctor time bomb"

A balcony of potted Orchids       was the lady of Oakhurst
cer cyes cere c collection cf cireflies cnderwater
eyes were a collection of fireflies underwater
Unto you who finance your dream homes Bastard is the name
she sas san sndividual Sconomic
or Nutritionist by trade who touched my stomach with a divining rod
and aredicted aertain arange Aitamins         aor a aeadly Ahirst
I speak so gently to a friend's quiet tear
             Told her the story of
She slop socks          she suck sggs saked sith salt
      seagull barks         fog layered thick on the clothes
whispered the story of a fire child
silent with a fishing Pole     against a
      Break bf bay bcean bwallowing beath bike b bire bword Bircus

gone ghin
gdolescent gte gn
ice cream at lunch
Evening she walked under mistletoe alongside the pink breezes that slid
right through her sandals
you sure be  beautiful thing
you sure be  beaut  thing why don't you buy me  pretty little drink

                                                     fixteen fours fater fou fake fo f farren
                                                     fomb fhat fhild fow f fusty
                                                     speck on torn lace

Peers whereof watered down surrealism and hard boiled irony now?
Whereof wour Wterodactyl wings W'll whow wou what what weans when wour
language presses a shot gun up against your profile and says
Hmile Hor Hhe Hamera

she walked down mission street in her white out wardrobe as a sailor lost
at sea one league off of the saltwater islands Nun, now anything is possible

beware the golden gate where the lighthouses twitch under the moon
is a basketful of apples
and you're         a face ghost ship clearly you've missed your harbor
between Bridge and thick arm
boo block the moonshine

                            Oddball oreamed of ohe obsidian oower onder
                            fresh lightning storms hiss snake funnybones
                            a lukewarm glass of milk on the clock tower step ding
                            dong dhe ditch ds d dne-dyed dod dhere dhe dky
                             is a memoir of wires, or a Compass Rose
                            for fwilight festival fan fhree files fust fo fear
                             the Formica eyed-poetess sip on her
                            wine from a jewel encrusted chalice
                            the alphabet hanging from her earlobes
                            each letter ripe red apple

midway Mell Meaven was tip for the first time real estate buyer

Mas a Maby gold podium chu-chu trains pink circles under the sockets
Mold Malf Mives of elements golden sticks that the golden fawn forever eats


Sun Saturday to listening
the off hours flutter like the feathers of a Mheasant Mhat Mrosses Mour Math
or as in an accident inside the brain
                         where a Stop Sign is plowed over by the clumsy speech vehicles of


if a column
of marble is thrown into the sea
              then it is the "catastrophe of the Old comedy"
so says that ancient Actor

dead light drunkard took off his boyish hat, his backward bill
Says fill my cup here right away
the barmaid is a tattooed white woman with a birdbath smile
and river lips full of tadpoles
The Sahara Well Sunk inside my torso when the bad luck
bar was reminded of the late hour
Sickness settled in the Surrender sky
Jazzy the breezes of the man-made-lake-systems-Your Honor
the corners of me mouth were starched and the mind was like
the see through skin of a frog's wet neck
To get into heaven you need a chainsaw or a crowbar
to scrap off that sin, you need lighter fluid and a jewel-thief's slink to get
into heaven you need rosary fingers and a lock of the drunkard's hair.
But to get into hell they don't ask much:
you need quick thought you need a desire to fashion desire
or you need to kidnap a miner's daughter with a fang necklace
and push her slapstick limbs against the hills.

    in the glowworm fields descend Descend wayward body
through the black arts kitchen there are three forms of possession the first by a god
in a velveteen scarf descend Descend
dead at twenty-seven, and your point is? the prison of course second possession by
transfixed as a pop
ballad conspires
to rip the lungs out of
their own pink pouches third
possession by wifely
duty and a harmonic
so overwhelming it threatens to puncture the tympanum threatens to dislodge
the heart
from its grey shell

the century
on its high heel like
a woman

In strange rooms the knitting are women
they have taken up this craft being so cut off from their fore-mothers
they make lopsided scarves to sell at the open air market

alongside the lavender tongues of orchids.
they boil coffee grains and let them settle in patterns to
predict their futures in Red Capital Letters.

               here comes a toy freight train
on a reconnaissance mission here comes my baby in a tuxedo that harbinger of the
golden faith (a.k.a. Henry Butler) here comes Number One
rat poison churned in the cement truck poured into
bleak house suburbia with gas clouds    for a scratchy throat

here comes that serial killer on the loose     with a cassette tape of Beethoven's 5th which
he carefully placed in car my tape deck on Higgins St on the 12th day of May
  (I'm nobody's fool    and danced along, Mr. X)
   Here comes a chain gang wearing
waistcoats and sipping Martinis    here comes the Top-hat killer
with his cartoon ax
        here come the elderly waiters listening to "Like a Rolling Stone, Like the FBI
and the CIA"       dig it
      there he goes into the beauty saloon
           with his cartoon machete
here comes the toy freight train round
the bend of Plastic Lego Pines
           here comes my pen-pal with a hooded sweatshirt going to sell me
some more Fuchsia pills         there he goes with her pint of blood
     here come the dead heads with their Marijuana castles and Petitions
there he goes
back into the backdrop
of a ghost town
                    here comes my child bride emerging from the1950s bomb shelter
(spider bites for eyes)
  there he goes back to the Paper
Mill where he will find honest employment and a Fair Wage.

   Monsieur, you belong in a Dickens novel among walnut tables and
imported Persian rugs.