fiction
creative nonfiction
about deadpaper
         
         
   
joseph goosey
   
         
   
Joseph Goosey recently discovered how little joy can be found in the fruits of his literary labors. He has a chapbook available via Poptritus Press. A Comfortable Place with Regular Sunshine can be ordered at http://web.me.com/poptrituspress/1/Peruse..html. He lives in Jacksonville, Florida for reasons unknown and thanks you for reading.
   
         
   
In 5 Minutes
   
         
   

There comes a time
when you find yourself
surrounded
by failing and drowning
things.

I mean, the burrito won't even cook.

5 minutes.

5 minutes???

A man can renounce a lot of things in 5 minutes.

My best friend Andy.

My other best friend Mary.

My 2 cats, zoom and
bang.

My grandma, Esther.

5 minutes and shit on 'em.

I don't need them.

I need this burrito to cook all the way
through.

Last time I ate,
I stopped not even halfway into the meal.
I was overcome by something insurmountable,
something not to be laughed at,
was I getting fat?
It was possible.

Sometimes, you can miss a thing so much
that you are rendered incapable
of walking the sidewalks
or properly gripping
your dinner fork.

   
         
   
The Bank Accounts of Poets
   
         
   

Today I witnessed a car crash.

It was my own car and I was inside of it.

I didn't notice until the car I had it with
motioned for me to pull over.

The driver of that car got out.

Did she hit you?

Who? I asked.

She, did she hit you?

There are only two of us, I told her.

I know, did she hit you?

This woman was talking in third person,
making it impossible to exchange
insurance information.

Which is OK by me,
because the last time I attempted
to pay my insurance,
the check bounced and they found me
sitting in my underwear, not looking at porn,
but eating a bowl of Sezchuan noodles.

I don't have it! I pleaded with them.

The insurance people
were unsympathetic
to the bank accounts
of poets.

I was hauled off to a room in Virginia
and there I would float
for an undisclosed period of time.

Upon my release I sped out of there
so quick, singing songs, drinking kahlua,
imagining a pair of thighs in the passenger seat,
my mind elsewhere.
I changed lanes without
blinking.

   
         
   
The Axes Best
   
         
   

Do you know how it could be
for all of us
if only there was some rat hole
on the premises?

It needs to be so
because in my location
a sort of disease
seems to be inchworming its way
on through.

My mother demands
that I launch an investigation
as to whether or not I'm still a member
of the immediate fam.

Well, my name reads the same in the ink,
but this ain't Scotland 1778,
so fuck it. And fuck
le nom de famille.

Though
I do recall begging her
for $8 plastic
figures.

They came with things like axes and
I liked the axes best.

With the axes, you know where you stand.

Then, I could renounce my family entirely
and end up salsa dancing in a Miami
moon setting. Or take a flight to San Diego,
but first, shop around.

Have I lost you, reader?

Have I lost you, vague listener?

Have I lost you, honeybuns?

Have I lost you, map?

Craver of dialogue?

Wearer of rigid makeup?

Let me tell you,
the print is too large on this page
from which I read
and there is absolutely no
experimentation
taking place.

Is it my fault?

Perhaps,
but maybe there's more.

Maybe the trapped dragonfly
plays a role as well.

Hold on.
The phone,
she rings. 

It's the mother figure.

Are you ashamed yet? She inquires.

No. No. No. Not yet, I tell her.

She hangs up and this should concern me,
but I was born without a cricket
and tomorrow I will drive to the bookstore
and not think of her as I holler through
red lights and medians.

My father may or may not
have won a scholarship
to Oxford.

If you asked, I wouldn't be able to answer correctly.

Also, while you're allowing me to continue,
I have to tell you how decent it is to bleed
from the ear. I mean, really lift up your ring finger,
place it upon the lobe, and examine something
that once ran cross country through your insides.

Which reminds me--

Not so long ago,
say, on some Tuesday
where no one is counting, I thought about suicide
the way one thinks
about a Chevron station coffee:

Sort of burnt but somehow acceptable.

Then, while watching a film
about an old man who goes cut cut
cut in the bathtub because
he was a former nazi or maybe
a former jew, that's the thing,
he simply wasn't sure, my girl says
how selfish! I say, indeed,
indeed, but I've never owned a carving knife
and my bathtub is leased and
I have zero interest in world affairs,
so I suppose I have zero options
other than to remain
o so very altruistic.

   
         
   
An Unidentifiable Crust
   
         
   
Reading Bukowski's "Mockingbird Wish Me Luck,"
and a sickly slip
of paper
escapes the pages.

It's a doctor's office receipt
that was issued to one

"Brian Dawson."

Nearly 2 years ago.

Any number of misfortunes
have had the opportunity
to exact themselves
upon Mr. Dawson.

I wonder what he was in for.

Perhaps a stabbing sensation in the groin
or even an unidentifiable crust
developing around the ear.

It's possible that these ailments do not exist.
Certainly I am no William C. Williams.

Maybe Mr. Dawson feigned panic attacks
in exchange
for illegitimate
Valium.

Maybe he was mugged
and discovered
in a Northside
dumpster.

Maybe he became a Powerball winner
and divorced
his brunette yet rotund
wife.

Maybe nothing at all.

Maybe right now Brian is watching
one of those reality shows
about judges and menial civil
cases.

I tear the receipt to three parts
and place it upon the brick flooring.

Brian Dawson.

Such a hoary name.

   
         
   
An Interruption of Some Fine Lyricism
   
         
   
It is 97 degrees and a misplaced Sunday.

The professors, they believe in me,
and their correspondence
is a sort of helium encouragement
but what they don't know
is that I have never done my own laundry
and I once plagiarized
a 16 page analysis of Dante.

A woman strolls up.
She's sporting a brown bathing suit
and starving, seething legs.
She asks, did anyone find my shoe?
I answer in the negative.
That same woman asked me that same question
just 5 minutes ago about 20 yards south
but she doesn't recognize my beard
or my insides.

I hate her

and I suspect
this is reciprocated.

   
         
   
I Meet a Comedian
   
         
   
Shit.

Herman, the DJ, caught me with my notebook.

You write?

Yes.

What?

Whatever's available.

I write too. I write jokes.

I manage to sidestep around the azalea bush
and wipe some substance
from my forehead.

Oh Herman,
I envy your trade.