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Six Poems By Donna Dallas

Donna Dallas studied Creative Writing and Philosophy at NYU’s Gallatin School and was lucky enough to study under William Packard, founder and editor of the New York Quarterly.  Her work has most recently appeared in The Opiate, Anti Heroin Chic, Beatnik Cowboy and Horror Zine among many other publications. She has just published a novel, Death Sisters, with Alien Buddha Press.She currently serves on the editorial team for Red Fez.

                                                                 Donna Dallas


Girls of Holly Hill

There are four houses
ones’ got a bathtub in front
with couch cushions piled inside
you can sit and sink into
Momma comes out with faded pink rollers
a cigarette dangles
she watches the other three houses
like the Manhattan skyline
a group of kids run
to the house with the pool
above ground
wood planks scaffolding
the sides in place
they step carefully over mounds and mounds
of dog shit
climb up that rickety rusted ladder
to jump into the green algae water
Later those little holly-ettes
head to a gritty couch to dry off
fumble over each other
with chlorine hands
and stubby thumbs
feverishly explore slitted caverns
within each other’s bodies
Jill from the Hill
got the black eye
from last night’s shift
the three legged dog rolls around in the dirt
Sady wears long sleeves every day
even when it’s roasting
to hide her tracks
Bubbles lost her nose from the cocaine
no cartilage left to hold its shape
smashed flat like a cartoon character
every day she walks four miles
to the nursing home to pick up Gramps
wheels him to the casino
leaves Gramps in the corner drooling
while she plays the penny slots
heads back at sunset
hits it up with Sady
Momma’s got the Pap’s Blue and the cigs
Jill dances
along the side of the highway
until dawn


Paco Please

Paco reads the Bible with us
his gaze a ravenous Dr. Oberheuser
will Paco skin me
or molest me?
Perhaps he jacks off to pics
of little girls in ruffled panties
I shower with the lights off
Paco peers into windows
never fixed that torn shade
Paco praises the lord
for these gifts of bounty
Does Paco bury his victims deep within
the dead underbrush of this land
or does Paco secretly love me?
Damn Paco
when my red satin bra and panties
went missing
my heart shaped sunglasses
the sequin and bauble necklace from mother’s cruise to Cozumel
four lipsticks from Wet & Wild
Paco’s smug as a bug nested at the window
with a kimono
and a cigarette
rainbow eyes
lips raging sinister red
under a burgundy embellished outline
I longingly peer
at his smooth
hairless legs
from the side window


While in Ordinary Time

I had to choose from six different types of sugar this morning in the coffee shop while the weird man who looked like Rambo-Santa was watching me I thought he was a pedo I just realized I’m in the game duh like when was I not I turned quick and got a crick in my neck and tried looking for an acupuncturist ones with pink hair know what they are doing this is completely untrue but I tell myself this because she has pink hair and is working on my neck like a demon while four ambulances and several fire engines stream by in urgent panic the siren noise grilling and deepening and the world may be ending of course while I have twelve needles in my neck what better time for Armageddon what better time to pull up on a street corner and thirty task force combat police I don’t know what the fuck get out and cover the four corners – I think this is it –
really as Magenta the acupuncturist is now intently needling a map down my upper spine I say Magenta is it the end? Is this the apocalypse? The world war???!!.....as my stomach drops
because I have $68 left in my wallet Magenta strokes my back inserts another needle and replies the world ended December 22 nd , 2012 baby none of this is real……


Better Days

I creep at dawn onto the train lowly
and slowly ride through those
tunnels of doom I follow a woman too close
on purpose I study
her hair
her damaged
split ends slightly brassy
home colored I compare
to my own mess of a head I wonder why I
care about her hair less anything to salvage
the disarray that has
come full circle
to complete my very visible
dark roots


Acts of self-realization

The thing about regret the thing about this
veil
these invisible walls -- climb over
the first one and there it is again back at ya
the thing is
it never ends -- this thing / these walls this terrible myth
hangs on every
edge of your
every thought every glance you see her -- of course it’s a ‘she’
regret comes in soft
flowers blooming with lilac and rose scents the petals drift
into your palm
pierce as the thorn would -- she is no thorn back
at ya the thing about her -- about regret
about it all
fuck it that’s what
they say but the fog of her keeps you at bay keeps you right at the
foot of something so great so eager
you hang on a hair
over a chasm
over a thought a life -- an unfortunate event
back at ya she comes full force
she / her / us / we go nowhere together


Casino diaries

#1
Joey C. self-made tree cutter
wanna win baby win
Just cut a tree down today
Huge oak fell
across the road
made 4 grand
(Nice!)
momma gonna make me a star today
Joey C. just dropped it all in this here black jack machine
What about your wife and kids Joey?
What about the money you need to take care of them?
Fuck it
I go home and tell my wife I had no business today
I’ll cut another tree tomorrow
#2
Where my bitches at
Says the pimp at the bar
They all on call says the bartender
Makin dat money
Dats what I thought

#3
The dishwasher-drug-dealer-room-renter
Rents an apartment
Then rents out rooms within his apartment
To the new jacks
Who come in
Off the books
To clean the bathrooms
The dishwasher-drug-dealer-room-renter sells some marijuana and crack
You want coke
He can get it
On his break
Right after his shift he walks the floor
There’s always a last minute fiend open and waiting
To buy more
Of whatever the dishwasher-drug-dealer-room-renter has
Could be shit
Doesn’t matter if he got pills that were stuffed up someone’s ass
#4
Druggies shoot the needle
Gamblers shoot the dice


Editors note: So, it's been almost a year since I posted anything new at Zombie Logic Review. It has been a trying and arduous year for me due to health concerns. I feel much better now and am ready to do what I love best: publish the best poetry I can find from the bravest, most audacious and talented poets, wherever I find them, and regardless of what school they belong to, or don't belong to. Please spread the word. Zombie Logic is back and looking to shake it up again. I'll be posting these poems also at Zombie Logic Press Facebook and Outsider Poetry  I appreciate you liking and sharing on behalf of all the poets and contributors who work so hard to make Zombie Logic Review a collaborative effort. Please feel free to submit or encourage others to at [email protected] We may not be all in this together, but we're sure as shit all in it. 


This post first appeared on Zombie Logic Review: Poetry For Outsiders And Outl, please read the originial post: here

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Six Poems By Donna Dallas

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