[Realpoetik] SCOTT INGUITO

[RealPoetik Magazine]

DON'T FETISHIZE MY BUCKET.

OKAY, YOU CAN A LITTLE.





If you are the guide,

who am I? If I want



to lay in the sun like

a dog with a smooth belly



knowing well that my belly

is not smooth though it is



distended, you will be

unfortunately abandoned. And



if I want to be the new dog

on the roof—higher than perennial love



though I piss in the corner of

the lowest part of the roof—



you unfortunately will be

abandoned. If I say



'You are now in me,' but I

want to live on the roof



at night and during the day,

but with access to the stairs



so I can do my business when

I want, outside—but I am loyal,



I only want to be in the cool bushes

at night (this is not semantic)—



you will be unfortunately

abandoned. And If I say 'Here



is my obsession, scarves and

strangers, ' even though my dog



dandruff perfumes deep into

the strings, sand and salt, you



will be unfortunately abandoned.

Where am I? I am on the roof,



in the sun in the corner on my side,

in the dirt in shadow; under the



palm tree shitting; sleeping in

a swarm of scarves and strangers



watching with closed eyes

gummed with salt and spit the



welded together buses.







AGAINST THE SURPLUS OF BIRD




Dogs and strangers and glances

fill the riverbank, come to

abandon esthetic longings. Not the



dogs but the strangers. And the

glances. Fallow delusion takes

more scrubbing at the river,



barks until hoarse in the dog throats.

Strangers find strangeness in other

strangers, but the thing about



making money is. In the river tossing

away no one is waiting; its opposite.

Ruins sit back over there. They



are the were that makes the will be,

the dogs and glances for the still-

starved strangers in the what is left.



*Scott Inguito* lives in San Francisco and is the author of the chapbook *Dear
Jack*, published by Momotombo Press.

-- 
RealPoetik
realpoetik.blogspot.com
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