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Poetry by Catfish McDaris

Catfish McDaris was a gunner in the artillery, a hippie Mestizo bricklayer from New Mexico. He's lived in a cave & a 63 Impala. Catfish has 9 chaps out, one with Bukowski, 7 with Micheline.  He's been published with Poe, Whitman, Emily Dickinson, Xavier Hollander  & been up for 6 pushcart Nominations.  He gives no rat' s ass.   He eats boogers!   He's a slammer, a lady killer.  An eater of poontang.  Bios are in the words.  Read on!

the wino & the mermaid

he discovered her sipping
from his stash under the pier
when the bottle was empty
a whimpering sound came
from her neck gills
sea green eyes pleaded for more

the wino turned his pockets
inside out & shrugged
she dove into the surf
& returned with five golden coins

at the liquor store
the owner smiled
giving the wino a bottle
for each coin

moonlight reflected off her scales
as they passed the bottles
silence sat between them

she passed out
the wino slung her over his shoulder
& carried her to his flop

he put her in the bathtub
sitting on the toilet
finishing the wine
he fell asleep & dreamed
he was Moby Dick

SKY PILOTS

the golden buds were sticky
like tiny pine cones
they smelled strong & earthy
over a shoe box lid
Antonio crumbled three tops
carefully removing the stems
separating the leaf from seed
he tilted the lid & used
a matchbook cover to roll
the seed away from the flake
taking a gummed cigarette paper
he lined it like a fat worm
twisted it up & licked it
he held it up for inspection
our mouths watered anticipating
the bitter euphoric smoke
Antonio fired it up
took a deep toke &
passed it to me
i lifted the joint toward
my waiting lips
just as all hell broke loose
cops broke down the door
with drawn pistols & shotguns
in hand
spotlights lit up the night
bull horns bellowed
"come out with your hands up"
we felt real fucking dangerous
my lips quivered like
a virgin's cunt as a cop
grabbed the joint & shoved
a pistol under my chin
Antonio & I leaned against the wall
with shotguns against our heads
as his mom's house
was torn apart
they found 6 grams
we were both 16 so we skated
they didn't find
the 10 kilos in our
tree house in the
backyard

 

CHIAPAS LIE

TWO YEARS AFTER THE UPRISING
EXTREME POVERTY & SUFFERING PREVAILS

who cares? who listens?

the united states doesn't
crops are still harvested
by slave wetbacks

the RICH have
new ways to FUCK over workers
on both sides of the border
& disregard ecological sanity

the TRICKLE UP theory:
sweat, pain, blood, & misery
means money in the bank

BOTTOM LINE

masked Zapatista women
"negotiate" while
the greedy pig called NAFTA
consumes
land & dreams

buried poisons lie
governments lie
the rich lie

the Mayans & campesinos lie

in graves

poems on this page copyright Catfish McDaris

Expect more excellent poetry on Lies People Tell by Catfish McDaris.

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