Land Of Milk & Honey

by Melanie Browne

He got a quickie divorce
and married a young
Thing who quickly
Sported a baby bump
After he stuck his
Proverbial P
In her proverbial V,
but she dumped him
for someone with a
saner head,
he wanders around
at night screaming
About “the sickness”
and parties he was
never invited to,
I heard His son’s hair
Is that same
Autumn color

Lethal

by Melanie Browne 

He bragged that he once built his

own electric chair, and that it worked,

and that is how his best friend died

back in Indiana.

he boasted that his uncle

was John-Gotti  and all he had to

do was “make a phone call,”

and that in an instant he and I could

jet-set across the planet,

he showed me his Pale-green back-pack

That contained all his worldly belongings,

The St. Christopher charm, an old polaroid

of a mine-field, (he didn’t say how he got it)

I didn’t go all the way with him,

because I knew he was a liar,

but he got to second base, (possibly it was third)

because the possibility that he was related

to a mob-boss, however far-fetched,

really turned me on.

Dead people aren't any good at telling jokes

by Melanie Browne

they just aren't funny,
the timing is all wrong,
and they always want
to smoke a cigarette
before they get to the punch
line, and then you can't understand
it because they start
coughing with some cold
they can't get rid of,
so you just kind of go
"heh."
because you don't want
to make them sad,
because damn,
they get sad a lot.

Listen To The Inner Coil Of My Heart As It Slowly Unravels

by Melanie Browne

jangle
jiggle
jingle
bok bagok
ooh ah mmph
clink clang crash
snort
sniff
boing
squawk
snort
gasp
gurgle
THUMP!

I Like Pepsi Better Anyway

by Melanie Browne

I believe the world could sing in perfect harmony. It would just take a lot of practice.

There would be a lot of logistical problems. People might not show up for rehearsals,

some of them would be busy strapping themselves with bombs, others might

think they were too fancy, they would stay home and drink tea and do crossword puzzles

while watching porn. That’s ok. Let them do their own thing. I would like to buy a bunch of station wagons so

we can get a lot of people to sing in perfect harmony. Everybody can bring a sack lunch and wrap their drinks in

foil like we used to do when we were kids going on field trips. There might be gang activity. Drugs. Violence.

At first we can expect some of that. Aromotherapy might calm people’s nerves. Lavender. We could fill the air with the smell of lavender.

So a bunch of people with sack lunches smelling lavender learning to sing in perfect harmony.

I really haven’t figured all of this out. I mean I guess we will need porta potties. Even people singing in perfect Harmony need to pee and poop.

Is that expensive? Renting those things? Nobody gets breakfast in bed or anything like that.

Just the sack lunch. Station wagons guzzle a lot of gas.

Like Siberia

by Melanie Browne

he pulls the
butterfly clip from
her hair,

and watches
as it flies
out of reach

A Monarch,
she tells him
and turns
to watch as
he stares into
the reflecting pool,
wounds
not yet healed.

A shaman might
call this a moment
of transcendence,

after a soul
lost for a
thousand years
in a Psychological
Siberia,

shovels out
of the frost,
only to suffocate
in a swarm of mosquitos

A Mid-Winter Revolt

by Melanie Browne

Finding crows in a
church yard is bad

luck, one -thousand
surrounding us
in a theater
of gravestones

is a nightmare,
I run at them,
waving my arms
wildly about,

they fly nowhere,
I yell that I have
no bread,
nothing to satisfy,

I watch as they
break the beauty
of a mid-winters silence
with their ghastly 'caws,'
pulling the repulsive

sky

along for the ride

Autumn is an introvert

by Melanie Browne

Autumn is an introvert,
and tries to be
ninja, using
crisp leaves
as throwing stars,
practicing day and night

Autumn hides
behind a giant
Cornucopia and listens
as people talk excitedly
about pumpkins,
hay rides,
and hot chocolate,

but Autumn is bored
by this gross display
of seasonal nostalgia,
he hates watching
squirrels gnaw
on pine cones,
and knows deer are
not adorable

autumn is an introvert,
he smokes clove cigarettes,
and makes his demon-
shadow-puppet dance
in the moonlight,
happy to be alone

Bob Dylan is Dead

by Melanie Browne

He got tangled
up
in truth

Folk Angels
wearing pink
hot pants
hitch rides
across the desert

The fuchsia flowers
drip from
their hair

Dead rock gods
fly over
the night sky,

sad & blue

while
palm trees
quiver
& beat
their tambourines

Breeze

by Melanie Browne

He sweeps his porch in the morning,
hoping to catch a breeze from
the east.
he knows about the foreign winds.
the suestado,the etesian.
He points to the places
on his plastic globe and they sip
hot chocolate, even though she scalds the milk.
He sweeps the leaves in a circular pattern,
leaving them in a little pile which
scatters again
in the afternoon.

Sexual Congress and the Post-consumer

by Melanie Browne

I
swallow all of
your post-
consumer
fibers

I became one
with all
of your
post-consumer
dreams

We lie
together,
post-coital

two post
consumers
watching
the stars
mingle in
the post-consumer
night

The Dumbest Things I Ever Heard

by Melanie Browne

When I
Was a kid

Authority figures
Always gave advice

Mr. Rogers gave advice on
“Friendly" and
“Helpful” people in my
Neighborhood

Smokey the Bear
On fire safety
“Only you can
Prevent forest fires"

The five food groups
What to say to the new kid
In school

And other
Useless crap
Along the years.

So much inane
Garbage
Soaking into
My ears as
I slept

Making its
Way into
My brain.

Yet Smokey the Bear
And Mr. Rogers
Have never made
An appearance
In my dreams

Only the celebrities
Get that far.

Lazy Eye & Tumbleweeds

By Melanie Browne

Once while buying chocolate milk in a convenience store in Raton,
I met a man with Lazy Eye.
Maybe it was Evil Eye (it’s all a little fuzzy now) .

He was wearing a faded camo jacket.
He held a hand in front of his eyes to shade the sun.
He said “hello.”
I told him “I’m from Texas.”
I tried not to stare.

He told me to watch out for the tumbleweeds,
He said
If the wind was strong enough and the sun hot enough,
They would literally catch on fire, little balls of flame bouncing across the highway.
He showed me the scars to prove it.

“There,” he said, pointing at his eye.
“Here too,” he lifted up his shirt,
Pointing at the mutilated skin on his stomach.

I drank my chocolate milk and pondered quietly for a minute what the man had said.
I decided it was probably bullshit,
But I thanked him for the advice.

Unforeseen Things

by Melanie Browne

Napoleon and
a prostitute
walk along
the Nile,

They stop
walking and
she gives him
a lap dance

His sword lies
across his
flank,

His eyes scan
the sky
as it fills
with gilded
chariots

The day pop culture died from a lethal injection

by Melanie Browne

Shelly’s calcified heart
& several paintings by
Jean-Michael Basquiet
Were among
The witnesses,
But by the end,
Pop culture
Was a monster,
Plastic surgery
Ruining its
Once
Angular jaw,
& pouty lips,

The truth was
Pop culture
No longer looked
Hot in a bikini
It tagged along
With some
Friends to
Rio de Janeiro

Drinking
Heavily,
It wore a leather mini,

They arrested it
At the summit
Of Sugar-Loaf
Mountain,
And brought
It in to
Be extradited
On charges
Of vapidness
And failure
To titillate
The masses

It moaned
Slightly as the end
Neared,
But otherwise
Made not a sound