Scott C. Dragoo /the-hold.com - september/october 2004

Scott C. Dragoo

Other side of a worlds other place

Drink dirty canal water stomach ached diarrhea stunted growth children mornings when garbage dump soldiers patrol outskirts darting about dart about between coverage and sublime piles of making room behind hideout hiding out from soldiers view leftover toothbrushes before going back to base with prisoners or information or none in a countless slum southern hemisphere -English is nothing but a second language -the educated top 2% live many miles from epicenter -the remainder shop for food and daycare.

July- known by another name pronounced with phonemes unpronounceable in the language spoken in cozy air conditioning shade driven sidewalk homes green grass side by side sprouting recognition -modern first world dominance flag banner waving the feet and knees waving over heads on gilded flagpole after flagpole after rusty flag spitting oxidization upon balding stress heads sun burnt in two hours leisure time spent outside a chair transition here to there purpose -cordial loitering since the salaried groping decision lauded as good eats tightens its roping stringness across cheeks raising vesseled being a laugh of sun certified stronger than any ten years pollution sky vibration.

Hot sided earth round rotation planet side between two oceans a handful of wet sea calls toward heaven -gods look down countless thrones and table tops heads kitchens offices and back alleys -all places between places inhabited empty awaiting the arrival of or at a loss of those left walking able bodied with limps waving arms for taxi cabs turmoil of domestic abuse foul languaged tossing echoside ceiling and floor uninterrupted forgotten upset humiliation stub toed anger running into impatient objects scattered on stairwells and childrens cribs.

Belabored confirmation in glory of ghetto living created for convenience in the vocabulary chosen by policy makers government lackey high officials disregarding the brunt of their task for form of cardboard cash brightly colored ink jet factories well protected hidden on outskirts of the established capital sitting the highest mountains once deepest jungles turned red clay mush useless under brief years poor cultivation attempts sidestepping United Nations contractual obligations pound of rice and three gallons of pure water per household if delivery makes timing right.

Hot outside, cold down here, where I write, where I write my words, words and nonsense, nonsense and words, nonwords, wordsense, I write purely for profit, purely for the profit of my limbic system a thing they sometimes confuse for the soul, I write for the profit of one or two good eyes to chuckle once or twice from what the see, I profit from making someone think once, I profit from giving someone an idea if only briefly and if only for the etch a sketch, I profit from disturbing the uninitiated.
I forget my age when I write, I forget Im a man, I forget Im a human, I am just a device that batters together strange symbols that someone told me is a word, a sentence, a paragraph.
I don't care for rules or oppression, I don't care for the unscrupulous that flock about me or for the places they eat and swim.
I am just another thing this universe shat out as it did all things and one day it will swallow me back up as it does all things and when this happens I will again be gone.

scott draGOO, marco maisto and
BC aka Paul Gidding participate
in readings regularly in Iowa City.

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Scott C. Dragoo

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