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Doug Draime
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            Poem For A Lost Uncle

 

                  by Doug Draime

 

 

            I see you with your

            counterfeit smile and

            dead eyes, pushing death

            like a sweet potato

            with your nose.  You have

            picked a profitable lifestyle

            and the world praises your progress.

            I read about you in the

            newspapers and watch you on tv.

            You tell jokes like George Carlin

            and you dance like Tommy Tone .

            Other men and women murder

            for you and more sign up to pull the triggers

            every day.  Your whores have snapshots

            of everyone you’ve had killed.

            Your wife is hooked on Chevas Regal

            and high powered vibrators, and your darling

            young son has sex with

            fat old men smoking cigars.  Uncle Sam, I’m

            sorry to say, you have become one

            degenerate motherfucker!

 

            Dreaming Picasso

 

             by Doug Draime

 

 

            I ran down the alley

            running from the cops.

            I was so drunk I forget  

            for what.

            I ducked into the back

            room of a bar,

            in the Bronx or

            Brooklyn.

            (who knows which, I was

            drunk and dreaming).

            But Picasso was

            already in there, shit-faced

            himself, hiding from

            Dora Maar.

            I quickly held my finger up to my lips,

            because I knew

            he’d start  rattling on loudly

            about her atrocities.

            He smiled, though, and

            got quiet for a moment,

            but he couldn’t take not getting it out at all,

            and he started mumbling

            things

            I couldn’t hear in

            rapid fire Spanish,

            his luminescent black

            eyes big as mud pies

 

 

Doug Draime has been a presence in the 'underground' and small press since the late 1960's. He was part of the notorious Los Angeles poetry scene of the latter 20th Century. Most recent collection, (with Misti Rainwater-Lites,) is "Next Exit: Three" (Kendra Steiner Editions) and forthcoming from Tainted Coffee Press , "Dancing On The Skids".
His poems, short stories and plays continue to appear in a wide range of publications worldwide.
He currently lives in the foothills of the Siskiyou Mountians in southern Oregon. 

 

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