Author: Joseph M. Gerace

Joseph M. Gerace is an artist and journalist. In his free time, he enjoys Brazilian jiu-jitsu, his 1965 Honda Dream, reading, running, biking, hiking and video games. He lives in Northern New Jersey.

Callejón de Nubes

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No thinking about the holes in teeth confused in cloud alley but elegant not selling elegance but true put the phone down elegance you ballet of proper verb forms then say ballet until her enjambment snaps off in her right hand the regional manager says put identity up there on the shelf beside the open box returns she’s talking about mycelium now or was a violent idiot a little tape holding it all together don’t take the comma deep underground take the coma of metaphor hey you guys look like you respect ska and city police neat and disorderly no one trying to reproduce scan or distribute any printed or electronic form of outre elder smoke returns through heavy mirrored interior of toilet paper tube violent design wins every time.

Modern Parenting Poem

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Cardinal feeding utility flag drummers and drunks oversimplify flesh the meat the spirit the soul everything i’ve learned about writing taught by drum and drink control yourself you will be free of mother nature calm down the copper knife at the back of your throat offers itself as relentlessness of the order that ought to chill a complicated relationship with beauty in the age of attention o gag reject to reject the reject who for so long you’d been looking for through the intended ai of the antediluvian injury and free now that you’re wise outside time as a broken window who beloved escapes the flipped hgtv home to lean on the car and drop its acid values and smoke through the stethoscope to the heartbeat of a hedgehog you’ve learned to love and keep close to your heart you are an awning now a father.

Mental Health Awareness Day Poem

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But what does it mean the guitar drones too loud what says the producer if a producer was involved at all in these cai guo-qiang epiphanies of cookie dough pit bulls leash themselves to the intersection of two corners arrive with incredulity at the real problem which looks so much as the fake problem is cautious therapizing the shadow in immense holocausts of cruelties the poor shambling well off gone feral in the face of a mirror act struggler struggling causing others to struggle with a crank of the barking knob of it all laid bare and flattened to cliche they shrug you shrug i shrug.

She of the Rumpled Pea Coat

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N.M.

Hears rudy boray statistic over the buzzy bee loves those within earshot encourages the dog to snip forever swing the hammer steal your melancholic library refuse manipulation be manipulated blacken the iron gates speaking at universities and private corporate events jam four little trees black ice air fresheners into the maxima’s ac vents the dog campaigns with distressed exposition perfect blocking and michael bay explosions admitting each other into the hall of greatness pisses on the y button sprays flat crystals across the front row and loses essence the sad pathetic mystery of life that’s what’s so great about it so much is failure as they say all telescope no planets as they say generous images jump from the first floor window hold their breath disembowel narrative intent with living happily ever after eat my marshmallow now or later neither of us will cough again eats ashtrays to reimburse the moon eats ashtrays.

Vincent D’Onofrio

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Dear Memory Erasing Itself,

You can see me, right?

Between the war on hokum and your neon grip silhouette, tall pink shadows collate humane gels.

Consistency is the universe.

Consistency is the universe, though I will not eat marmalade.

We’re a generation of men raised by women from which mold has been removed. Is another woman the answer we need from the surface?

While my batting average is extraordinary please ask yourself, after this war on hokum does your story need goblins? What does your company really stand for? Sconfitto, but figuring that out is essential—here’s how.

The large hands of Maurice Blanchot are here with us sketching in neon: The struggler against paper walls. History’s best alternative clawing at imaginary walls. Desire to eat own tail again. Consistency is the universe of short live streams from the toilet, and I’m a stone-cold snob about it.

I notice my arm shaking arterial spray all over the imaginary walls.

Kurt Cobain died seven months before Guy Debord. A danse macabre daddy’s body in the other room ripped from the headlines.

Ripped from the headlines.

Best,
Joe