Author: rloudon

Tiny Opera
~ for Page Loudon

Telephone rang shoe buckled bicylebicycle clickclickclick crashed I attempted a deep squat my leg skittered out behind me I pulled myself up hanging onto an embarrassing item yelped I’m okay I’m okay to no one tweet tweet sang the goddamn birds meow said the useless orange cat even baby orca pushed her giant head out of the water and giggled (I’m lying about that part) I cursed the garbage truck rumbling by in the valley above those fucking noisy animals my son said you’re too old for this then I pretend murdered him with a switchblade comb and ketchup blood.

The End.

Shajareh Tayyebeh
— Elementary girls’ school in Minab, Iran
bombed during “Operation Epic Fury” February 28, 2026

Panic painted gentian arrows on our feet
between the carpal and the sour toe
a molecular transfer of energy the red
thread pulled us all the lure
and the reel pickled our sorrows
count on happiness as revolutionary
because the beast is at the door
carnivorous two headed
the secrets we were promised as dangerous
girls lying low in the tall grass
imagine the animal’s astonishment
finding us swimming there
arms finally let loose from their silks
it was a measure of time
we were not inevitable
violence or salvation
it’s all the same a constant ache
trade these stories like currency
in the land of indulgence
we were too small for fatigue
we craved the beast we were given
we will not be targets
of this horror

Orthodox Sunday Videodrome Fig. 1

I stopped using
(oh let’s face it)

my beloved cocaine
in 1989
the poison that rose out of me holy shit sister
I’m not even kidding
took root in my cheeks turned them cartoon drunk red
and lumpy like bleeding oatmeal

now I’m addicted to a new drug that promises to make me a thinner younger va-va-voom movie version of myself because I’m fat! and old! and my blood is full of sugary easter eggs! delicious! almost like cocaine!
yummy!

I’m so fucking dangerous
(be handsome for the resurrection, Becky)

hallelujah hallelujah
now I’m a pale skinny goat a bleating half-wisp
one side of a sharp blade
floating in a blood kitchen
would you like some soup?
some bread?

I was raised in the holiest-holy-roly-poly-roller church
(before it was fashionable)  went downtown with pamphlets
explaining how babies were born into sin
how YOU will go to a fiery hell
do you remember Chick Tracts? that was me
oh my god it’s so goddamn funny now
I left them in phone booths by the metric ton

they are back those stupid stupid people
addicted to  murder and money and more murder
hallelujah hallelujah
wailing praise songs O lamb of god, I come I come
waiting to be lifted
into their terrible gold heaven




(sorry this poem is extremely drafty I just knew if I didn’t write something my brain would float off xo)

Jupiter at rest

There was candlewax in my hair for seven days and seven nights the clouds were old testament we watched the sky which plane would fall first which soldier would fall first which angel would descend shocked by a neutral wire you might be shocked at how many people are already dead inside which astronaut will touch ground first which child will fall first small and crumpled my mouth and hands inside this numb poem words didn’t disappear me they boiled away inside 

We remember you from the before times 

a frog hangs all across all the trees her gray easter frock a wee bit slimy listen! the tree murderer who knocked on my door and said I hope you don’t mind that I cut down some of your trees and I threatened him with my lawyer like I could afford a lawyer but I look kind of crazy when I want to and I used the Voice on him so he now he’s down the hill starting all his engines his riding lawn motor his chainsaw his giant *rump emblazoned truck his leaf blower his John Deere tractor his excavator that lifts and separates like Jane Russell’s Playtex 18 hour bras christ can you imagine wearing one of those now Jane Russell makes me think of Ivory soap which smells like my father and makes me happy did Jane Russell fold time was it she who summoned the toads to my forest my easter house shivers in half light disappearing in and out translucent as the frogs sing their angry hymns and summon turtles to the pond I had a silver dress shot through with silver threads and my first pair of high heels and a silver clutch purse god I was stunning it’s sunrise I’m going out to plant some eggs

Migraine day 3

Corkscrew in my head let’s celebrate 

haha no haha happy no good friday 

worship at the self serve dog wash

old in amerikkka I live inside

a John Prine song welcome

you losers drunks failures theives 

let’s smash our heads against a tree

begin again smash harder

I love you all

April 1

It’s hard to start a cold engine

even if the engine is my brain

my brain refuses reading

has refused me for the past two years

this morning I had to pay property taxes on my house

then I shouted BURN IT ALL DOWN!!! I meant every word 

It’s hard to start a cold engine

when you want to burn down the house

not my house his house

Burn it all down motherfuckers.