PRESSURE PRESS ARCHIVE

Summer Love Poems Ron & Ann July 1998 mr. natural Wednesday, 08-Jul-98 15:53:07 exploring my feelings in the shower i admit to myself that i am a bit jealous but far more i admire the way he just knows these things i've been studying or struggling to understand and embrace for the last twenty years. writing self-awareness and self-acceptance voluntary simplicity even tantric lovemaking a healthy hedonism a peaceful life. how, i ask myself as i rinse my hair, can he be the buddha and prince gautama all in one? ann dexter herron not writing work poems Wednesday, 08-Jul-98 15:27:33 in youth i cld relive the night in my mind again, pin-point assholes, remember breaks shivering with bourbon, nostrils flaring hashish in the warehouse, f---head foremen drunks, etc... now, naw, i don't like writing the s---down. i'd rather it not matter, & it doesn't. i stay straighter & try not to fight. better to forget & dismiss than experience another time. ron androla waiting for sean Wednesday, 08-Jul-98 15:19:34 i was 13 when he was birthed from my sweet aunt rosie. he was more a kid brother, a pain in the ass, someone to pick on & tease, than a normal cousin. today he stands 6'4" & is bulky & shaves his head, huge arab nose & red smoke eyes. spent time here in erie country prison. he's a fine guy, huge-hearted, but you don't want to f--- with him, unless he is yr little cousin, & high. ron androla x-rated poets Wednesday, 08-Jul-98 15:05:20 with slightest urging z-sound of zipper zig-zags open purpled penis they stroke typewriter fingers around muscle & nuts, masturbatory virtuoso masters of cum via word memory girls when sex was good without poetry involved yet, wet deep velvet ron androla debs Tuesday, 07-Jul-98 19:55:52 "she was no debutante," you said, referring to some relative of your ex-wife (soon to be ex, anyway), as if you would know a debutante if she jumped up and bit you in the ass. I , i knew some debutantes, back in the day, when coming out had a whole different meaning, when they still wore pearls and pappagallos. there were two sisters ahead of me in high school, but there was really no deb scene in waynesboro. gayle and alice ann had to go to richmond, where they could also pick out their white dresses for the cotillion at the good shops like montaldo's. and at mary baldwin college there were debs galore, from texas, the carolinas, mississippi. the real thing, honey, with their daddies' money and their gold add-a-bead necklaces filled to within an inch of the clasp. so, you're right, she probably was no debutante, but what i'm thinking is we should get off the mason-dixon line. after all, i'm an erie girl now. ann dexter herron cigarette smoke in headless mirror Tuesday, 07-Jul-98 15:24:16 across this room my stickered mirror (dean's BLIND PATRIOTISM IS DANGEROUS! square pink sticker) reflects things behind & to the left of me blue orchard lamp from 1980 on dresser-top, yr smiling photograph face, a little radio & a little speaker, photograph face of my son & me, the scotch-tape you cldn't find last night. look into mirrors more, my love. i like mirrors. i think there are 5 in this place. none of my self is caught except a dancing ascension of a marlboro light ron androla we're trying to figure Tuesday, 07-Jul-98 15:11:52 transmigrational articles & objects, fleshy coffee-cup pops downy feathers since now we're sort of birds ornithological at least inside our heads, little nests where we curl together in daylight & baby we tweep sorry about this squeeking bedframe under us the massage parlor lady wettens we're right on the verge of rain trying to figure how to move yr stuff & yr daughter 400 miles north, here, soon we flap intelligentsia wings twirling like a barber-shop pole, a glass javelin moment of initial shattering on concrete ground ron androla mingus, she's in the shower, & coffee Tuesday, 07-Jul-98 14:52:42 good half-hour with sleep globs in eyes in afternoon with taste of rain mmmmm her long long hair me hard (primitive erection instinct man) ann mmmmmmmmmmmmm-ing straddling my prone bone & riding a horse across the atlantic ocean, cowgirl appalachian old hippy broken-marriaged sweet-breasted mental-twin lover! ron androla ann's first period here Monday, 06-Jul-98 18:25:26 usually it isn't an unrecognizable transistion, a day before i get all bitchy, but this was all very calm, she explains smiling that full-face smile. ann's eggs & gooey insides slip into our chicken-coop commode, red streak of baby-flesh & yolk. she's as smooth & soft as an infant, pillowy breasts get sore. i'll be easy. ron androla syrian women Monday, 06-Jul-98 16:11:57 a small picnic shelter under tall trees and a perfect blue sky. a few yards away, a gazebo where an amateur orchestra plays sousa and sinatra. i'm surrounded by a family -- second, third and fourth generation syrian women and their husbands,sons and grandsons. the women have dark wavy hair, even the ones privileged to be called sitto -- grandmother -- and long lovely noses. they bring lamb, tabbouleh, stuffed grape leaves and dishes i don't recognize or can't spell. they comment, compliment, dip bread and meat into garlic and hot pepper sauce. they ignore their husbands -- funny old white-haired guys who share my ethnic heritage - indulge their teen-age grandsons, but, oh my, how they love those baby boys, wrap the little ones tight in their arms, smooch and nibble on fat sweet cheeks. they say aunt mary's syrian bread rose higher than usual. that means someone is pregnant, means happiness. ann dexter herron time to quit Sunday, 05-Jul-98 23:20:38 oh my god, y'all this world is so beautiful. and when i sit in the recliner and get choked up at russell baker's concluding remarks on masterpiece theatre i know it's time to quit. but first i might check out the porn sites. ann dexter herron sunday night Sunday, 05-Jul-98 22:13:13 when i was a kid i hated sunday night. already nostalgic for the weekend, apprehensive about the school week, i sat on the floor in front of the tv and heard the miserable, haunting strains of the lassie theme song. now in middle age, i have a new reason to hate it. the start of the third shift work week, five more nights until i sleep with him, and it's here before you know it. he's tying his work boots, and i hear a sad whistle, see a flicker of black and white. ann dexter herron ann & a syrian reunion Sunday, 05-Jul-98 08:01:22 i'm already smiling. appalachian & syrian, quite a mix. ron androla old folks on the 4th Saturday, 04-Jul-98 10:12:37 that 2nd pan of bacon is just a-hissin' and poppin' and you know, don't you honey, that we probably won't be awake for the fireworks. enough of this introspective shit. it's a national holiday! we should find out if the beer store is open. ann dexter herron sanity Saturday, 04-Jul-98 10:01:43 you read me poe as i close my evening eyes upon our kitty-corner single bed. high & smiling. yr southern voice & cigarette-throated deepness narrating fear from 1845 quill-pen, poe's. i must rest before my steady graveyard-shift factory job, you're so good to me. particular moments caffeinated we talk & talk & talk. ron androla declaration (for my mother) Saturday, 04-Jul-98 09:40:47 "lift flap to reveal representative slice." it's the 4th of july and i'm frying bacon for a man the one i've loved more than half my life, and for his tall son sprawled asleep on the couch. we woke slowly this morning spoke quietly, quick snapshots from the past, getting to know each other at last, again. mom, i can't show you this whole picture just as i can't make him see our kitchen table or the station beside the river each family is a closed system, as you know. still, i want to show you this, for you to taste a slice of how we live, how we love and write. ann dexter herron nothing to say on the fourth of july Saturday, 04-Jul-98 09:21:20 rain in forecast, around 9 a.m. i can feel that rain, taste it in window air. shadow seems strangely monolithic not quite upon us. strange also slow, very light traffic & hitchcockish cary grant eyes. hitchcockish f---ing cary grant eyes. what in all hell am i writing about? freedom consists of me saying well, that's how the cookie crumbles, the indians are drunk this morning, still flabbergasted. ron androla terrorist free-form haiku Saturday, 04-Jul-98 08:47:07 sort of boiling morning mist mimics blue fog her sweet warm neck sweat * ah to write mumbo judge me not into judgement free poem failure! * son asleep on couch ann cooking kitchen magic me thinking one bowl * bruce willis saves us he didn't give a s---if poets survived * internet freedom only think of the word f--- uck uck uck, people * florida fires use some caution jim valvis lighting yr black pipe * mumbo or jumbo jazzbo guzzles fireworks mad celebration! ron androla july 4th Saturday, 04-Jul-98 08:15:24 couple hundred years ago independence mattered, was matter like musket, mud & blood & short life-spans, now, who knows more than what's designed by forces of $$ ron androla my to-do list (the sequel to our grocery list) Sunday, 19-Jul-98 23:11:49 ok, you guys, tonight i have to: take a shower finish hemming my dress for work tomorrow put the pot roast in the crockpot along with vegetables that have to be cut and speaking of pot those seeds and stems need sorting for viable crumbs. i've already checked off dishes and laundry. plus write a lot on this discussion board ann dexter herron enjoli and new work boots Sunday, 19-Jul-98 22:51:37 just when i'm beginning to feel like the woman in the enjoli perfume commercial ("i can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan...") i look at him in his new work boots. and i remember how long he's needed them and why. it's about one of the factory machines, how it leaks oil right onto his foot and i think of the job he has to do, and does, 5 nights a week, without much complaint. then i notice how goddamn good he looks in those new work boots and i'm the enjoli woman after all ("...and never, ever let you forget you're a man.") ann dexter herron she's fixing me another drink Saturday, 18-Jul-98 00:08:12 gee-suzz, this the 5th? i've rolled another bone. flamed it. you got it. huff. look secretarial in yr glasses. how many goddamn women are you? ron & ann we're talking to ourselves Friday, 17-Jul-98 23:50:12 she says sliding onto the bed quietly reads this word to word i think wet i think i cld go over & she's honey nude under her red rose dress ron & ann his friday evening Friday, 17-Jul-98 21:08:48 i'm smoking a bidi & drinking my 2nd bourbon & water of the evening. ann is smoking something too, & now has lit a bidi & is on her 2nd bourbon on the rocks. ann bought the bidis at the mall & has now walked into the livingroom to listen to "pale blue eyes" by lou reed/velvet underground. bidi stub, out, between my lips, i chew at the sweet end below thin white string. my ice has dissolved. i'm guzzling. hello. i'm saying hello with red eyes & a bidi between my teeth, bourbon-breathed, smoke-riddled about 9 on a friday evening just about total sunset time. ann has returned. her bidi is also out. she's chuckled. she thinks she's goddamn nico! as i chew the end of my bidi, it curls around like a tobacco mandala. ann is laughing. she sits on the end of our little bed. i will now transcribe what she has to say: no, no, no... i figure if we had stayed connected 20-some years ago we'd have done heroin. ann's mother asked if she was here to do drugs. "does he have you on drugs?" she specifically asked. everybody thinks i'm a monster. really i'm just a pussy-cat (ann says). ann has yet to read UNDERGROUND UNDERGROUND BENEATH THE DUST OF MARS completely. nico sounds like a heroin angel. sometimes i'm a poet. has anybody read my online book?? we're discussing fame, mine, & what i think about it. ron & ann simultaneously after noon / friday / after work Friday, 17-Jul-98 12:39:37 beam, cold water, & 3 ice-cubes sweat in a tall glass on this table. hot & stuffy in the apartment today. laura nyro cd plays summery songs. ann is at work until 7. she's sure addicted to this message board. the craziest poets are online when i go to work thru the night, & ann's right there with them posting arrays of things. it's better than if she was getting drunk, we agree, as a nightly activity. well, it's daytime & i'm getting drunk posting this. ron androla this person Friday, 17-Jul-98 00:27:22 this person i am in this town on these message boards is not who i was when i got on the bus three weeks ago. this person writes a lot lives without her kid drives a car and has a steady loving man with problems of his own. ann dexter herron now Thursday, 16-Jul-98 18:46:31 i did dishes, wiped up. well, first i woke at 3 alone. ann works 1 - 8. fixed coffee. clicked this discussion board on, read thru massive, wild communications, drinking my coffee, smoking. called the kids. called my telebank. answered some e, then surfed & hung out. then i noticed the time & did the dishes. all clean. we have forks. i've slid the tuna noodle in the oven. i'm hungry & will eat before you get back, maybe even nap, then we'll kiss & talk. you'll click this discussion board on, be reading this, exactly, profoundly, now. it's the last night of work! ron androla our grocery list Thursday, 16-Jul-98 01:55:55 just your typical household. poor white trash woman with literary pretensions, blue collar factory worker underground poet guy. the list on the kitchen table reads: sugar conditioner creamer eggs onions toilet paper bread crisco paper towels middle-class sanity a drug-free amerika compassion transcendental awareness poetry real art health happiness love cool whip ann dexter herron pasha in sweatpants Thursday, 16-Jul-98 00:58:49 bare-chested bearded and sleek he moves from room to room with a flat-footed panther-like grace. think yul brynner in "the king and i" only swarthier and sexier if that's possible. think sultan with a harem of one. ann dexter herron this last (first) poem Wednesday, 15-Jul-98 16:35:58 if you are logical, which most americans are, very, we've been trained, mind/behavior-sculpted socially so we KNOW poetry is harmless & this is the first poem at the top of a few others i've been writing on this discussion-board in cyberspace, i want to explain the more logical sequence of poems begins with the first i wrote about 3:08, & this is the final, endless one nearing 5 on a rainy july afternoon ron androla deciding on pizza Wednesday, 15-Jul-98 16:27:25 ok, 19 bucks, payday tomorrow tho everything's already gone, checked freezer (ice-cream & more fish-sticks) & cupboards, thought about angel hair pasta but then discovered no sauce ron androla 3 poems 10 minutes apart Wednesday, 15-Jul-98 15:49:52 that's strange how that worked, days went by, years. ron androla ann is at work at the mall Wednesday, 15-Jul-98 15:28:48 i woke around 2 very meat-arrowed, but on the 20th day of her arrival she wasn't nestled with me. prone i gaze at my sleep-eyed rem-lidded penis aimed at my chin. i think ann is fascinated by my penis, how it floats & waves in the morning tub while we talk, nudes, one quite wet. she can't join me in water since i wash off fiberglass dust. she works until 5, standing with a clipboard & her virginia accent & appalachian grin, hey, i'll make us supper soon. ron androla heavy, hard, afternoon rain Wednesday, 15-Jul-98 15:18:02 holy i'm writing fast here since who knows whether the power will be sliced off, what fat rain-drops! we need this rain in the northeast section of amerika: amerika, rude & strict, land of the shackled, yes, soak us, wash us. knock out all circuits. ah, i'm writing slower now. ron androla