FINAL MANUSCRIPT

Colin Kohrs
Dr. Armstrong
Poetry Writing
Fall 2016
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Table of Contents
Vulva 3.0 .......................................................................................................... 5

I. KITCH, CAMP, AND GENERAL BUFOONERY SERIES...... 7

i. Fashion Choices ............................................................................................ 8
ii. Thoughts? Comments? Questions? Critiques? ............................................ 9
iii. A Melodramatic Ballad On Hannah Kolbinger as She Waits for Poetry to
Begin .............................................................................................................. 10
iv. Out, Damned Spot..................................................................................... 11

II. INSPIRED BY DRAG QUEENS IN ONE WAY OR

ANOTHER SERIES ..................................................................... 13
i. Red Delicious .............................................................................................. 14
ii. Sonnet 1 ..................................................................................................... 15
iii. I Am a Professional .................................................................................. 16

III. FOOD & LIKE SERIES ......................................................... 17

i. Kraft Macaroni & Cheese ........................................................................... 18
ii. An Ode to Sexy Sexy Apple Cider Vinegar .............................................. 19
iii. Potato Sonnet for Rachel .......................................................................... 20
iv. Sugar Rush ................................................................................................ 21

IV. A PAIR OF JUVENILE LUST POEMS WRITTEN DURING

A SHIFT AT THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY AFTER AN
INTENSE MOMENT WHERE HE CAME TO USE THE
STAPLER ..................................................................................... 22
i. ..................................................................................................................... 23
ii. .................................................................................................................... 24

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VI. POT POURRI BUT NOT ACTUALLY ................................ 26
i. Mother Goose’s Road to Canterbury .......................................................... 27
ii. .................................................................................................................... 29
iii. Rain .......................................................................................................... 30
iv. Glass ......................................................................................................... 31
v. No More Training Wheels ......................................................................... 32
vi. Still Life .................................................................................................... 33
vii. If You Absolutely Must… ....................................................................... 34

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4
Vulva 3.0

In between my legs I hide

a thing I dare not show.
Computer update specialized,
my Vulva 3.0.

You hide the same, (the secret tech

in every slut and hoe).
Electric metal techno bits,
your Vulva 3.0.

Her cold and greasy metal, where

mechanics dare not go.
A car, a truck, for sure! But not
her Vulva 3.0.

But we are all a hive mind in

collective bitchy woe.
A server-crashing user-surge,
our Vulva 3.0.

They gossip, y’all are ign’ant folk,

so much that you don’t know.
The NSA has gone and hacked
your Vulva 3.0.

They flash, encrypt, update, and sell

the information flow.
A never ending mystery:
the Vulva 3.0.

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I. KITCH, CAMP, AND GENERAL BUFOONERY
SERIES

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i. Fashion Choices
For Maggie Estep

I’m going to go on a GOD DAMN SAFARI

I’ve got a jeep
I’ve got a water bottle
And I’ve got my mother fucking KHAKI VEST

Come with me as I go on my GOD DAMN SAFARI

We’ll see giraffes
zebras
lions
an elephant?

Vroom vroom. The jeep is leaving.

Will you please come with me on my
GOD DAMN SAFARI?

No?

Fine.

I’ll go by myself on my GOD DAMN SAFARI

With my jeep
And my water bottle
And most importantly my motherfucking KHAKI VEST.

I’ll text you the pictures.

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ii. Thoughts? Comments? Questions? Critiques?

When I am alone I am bullied.

When I am alone in the quiet I have no one to stand up for me
When I am alone I’m afraid of the dark

I avoid it.
I fill up my time and let it overflow
With a job
a job
a Job
a JOB?
a class a class a class a class a class a class
a class a class

The WORK makes me unhappy

but the NO WORK makes me unhappy.
So I do it to be happy. yes. ¿yes

After the tenth slap it goes numb

And I’d rather take that over a needle any day?
The slapping doesn’t make me HAPPY?
But it doesn’t make me ¿NOT HAPPY?

I WANT TO QUIT
I WANT TO STOP
¿I WANT TO STOP
I want to relax
I want to think
I want to feel?

But I can’t do that and I won’t do that because I do what I do and I do what I do
well
Or do I?

When I am alone I am my bully

The bully can’t STOP
And the victim WONT STOP
And neither of them have the energy to make anything of the damn situation
Other than excuses
And certainly not
¿ ¿ ¿ ¿ ¿ ¿ ¿ ¿ ¿ ¿ ¿ ¿Change.

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iii. A Melodramatic Ballad On Hannah Kolbinger as She Waits for Poetry
to Begin

Beside me Hannah slouches deep

With boredom in her eyes.
She waits for poetry to start
And in the meantime, cries.

She doesn’t really cry outright,

But sorrow fills her soul.
The tears fill up her dark, wet, heart
So much it overflows.

She wrings herself just like a sponge

The sorrow, squelching out.
And not in water, but in sass.
A quiet shady shout.

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iv. Out, Damned Spot

Like Lady Macbeth with the blood on her hands

A symbol of guilt that still lingers
There’s one thing that sticks with you stronger than blood
When you wipe and get poop on your finger

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II. INSPIRED BY DRAG QUEENS IN ONE WAY
OR ANOTHER SERIES

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i. Red Delicious

if this apple core were a drag queen

her ensemble would be hailed
as utterly drop dead gorgeous
her colors working together
in perfect organic harmony
from the jagged trim of red
peeking out from under her skirt
(a clear Louboutin homage)
to her green and red ombre wig
with stem piece fascinator
but she would surely lose the pageant
due to the state of her padding
looking as if she were made to fashion
hip pads using only fiber glass insulation
stuffed hurriedly into pantyhose
her curve-hugging flesh tone bodysuit
doing her absolutely no service
but the judges would still be taken aback
as she walks down the runway
serving two looks in one
her bodysuit transforming
from yellow green to brown
revealing the fibrous bones of a corset
cinching her tighter and tighter
with every step down the runway

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ii. Sonnet 1
For Sasha Belle

A little hermit crab scuttled quickly

across the blackened sand towards the road.
He climbed across a stone and past a stick,
and as he reached the dirty asphalt, he slowed.
The sea of black was wide, quiet, still,
yet burning hot, unwelcoming, and dry,
All that stopped him was his own free will,
but a voice from deep within just wanted to try.
A taxi cab drove by miles away,
watching the breezy seaside scroll.
The driver sat quite alone inside the cab,
driving safely, stopping at every walk way,
then pressing on the gas to let the wheels roll.
And he kept on driving without ever hitting the crab.

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iii. I Am a Professional
For Shangela Laquifa Wadley

For a creative non-fiction course, we

were instructed to write an essay
about a quest, and for that quest
I had my chest waxed, but what I had
not considered was that, juxtaposed
against the many pages of synthesized
scholarship on the American culture
of hair removal, there was no way
to tone out the inevitable silliness
contained within the phrase
“My nipples.”

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III. FOOD & LIKE SERIES

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i. Kraft Macaroni & Cheese

I pour the box into the pot of boiling water absentmindedly

and the bag of powdered cheese falls in with it
upon further observation I discover that the bag is waterproof
to protect the cheesy contents
from disaster.

I am not unlike this bag, with my own outside shield

that protects me from life’s boiling water
but what I lack instead
is the beautiful cheesy powder
it holds inside

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ii. An Ode to Sexy Sexy Apple Cider Vinegar

“[Sexy sexy][v]inegar contains natural properties which help control eczema.

Many people believe that white distilled vinegar and [sexy sexy] apple cider
vinegar ([SS]ACV) will offer the best relief from eczema. Always use raw,
organic, unfiltered, and unpasteurized [SS]ACV containing Mother. The [sexy
sexy] vinegar has to appear dark and cloudy with the sediment at the bottom of
the bottle.”
--Admin, HomeRemediesForLife.com

your sour stings across my broken skin

a burning pain to heal at a later time
I let it fester meditating til when
my nails will be sent to prison for their crimes
the little nubs so broken down by war
without a noble cause they fight for fun
a war-crime joy an unrelenting sore
a genocidal toddler with a gun
I want your body spilling across my own
your puckered wet and dry to press against
my pillaged town you visit and I groan
and for a brief moment the pain is un-sensed
but the chained and locked up Hitler will always be freed
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Bleed.

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iii. Potato Sonnet for Rachel
And the bastard love child of Filippo Tommaso Marinetti and Shakespeare

Potato sonnet Rachel wants to read

Potato sonnet Colin wants to write
Potato sonnet literary bleed
A round and starchy veggie Irish blight
A salty fry (“a basket?”) NO, JUST ONE!!!
A single salty tater masterpiece
A cathLICK sin, such pleasure that they shun
Yet starch is one step godlier than meats.
Potato tater tot and vodka too
Be mashed or cooked or boiled or fried or baked
Potato sticks its heart to me like glue
Potato ‘tato love for ALL is maked
Potato world peace made for all the earth
Potato grow for humans death to birth.

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iv. Sugar Rush

My mouth is a subjective bastard

My tongue is its damned accomplice
With handful of skittles set on the pallet
Soda tastes as clear as water
And water?
What is that?

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IV. A PAIR OF JUVENILE LUST POEMS
WRITTEN DURING A SHIFT AT THE
UNIVERSITY LIBRARY AFTER AN INTENSE
MOMENT WHERE HE CAME TO USE THE
STAPLER

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i.
He walks up to the library desk
With that god damn perfect everything
I’m screaming
I’m creaming
Please hop over this desk immediately
And we can knock over all of the book carts

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ii.
There’s an art to fitting
The words “I want you to
Stuff me so deep, so hard,
And so violently that I’m
Put into a coma for the rest
Of my life” into a two word
Exchange and a smile.
He hasn’t picked up on it.
Yet.

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VI. POT POURRI BUT NOT ACTUALLY

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i. Mother Goose’s Road to Canterbury

Yankee Doodle went to town

A-riding on a pony,
Stuck a feather in his cap
And lived a life of sin.

Little Miss Muffet

Sat on a tuffet,
Eating her curds and whey;
Along came a spider,
Who sat down beside her.
The two both lived lives full of sin.

Jack and Jill went up the hill,

To fetch a pail of water;
Jack fell down, and broke his crown,
and lived a life of sin.

Little Jack Horner

Sat in the corner,
Eating of Christmas pie:
He put in his thumb,
And pulled out a plum,
And said, “I lived a life of sin.”

And so Doodle, Miss Muffet, her spider, and both Jacks

Chose to go on a pilgrimage to fill in the cracks
made of sin, in their souls (so unstable and weak)
And so onward they traveled, redemption to seek

The spider was first of the five to depart

With the smallest of legs (and the smallest of hearts)
After two steps he faltered and ached deep within
So he left them, continuing on with his sin

It was Doodle who left, one day after the bug

Though a natural rider, he still felt a tug
in his heart, just that miniscule stab of a pin
That poked him too hard. He rode back to his sin

Both Jacks left together, in separate ways

As they both could not handle the other one’s gaze
That were fixed on Miss Muffet’s most beautiful skin
So they both trotted off to their two lives of sin

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Poor Miss Muffet remained on the soul-search alone
With the weight of the sins in her heart to atone
The weight of those curds and the whey and the spider
Memorium-weight of the sin deep inside her

At last she arrived where to have her sins loosed

at the nest of the magical mothering Goose
“Oh I wish to be free of my sins!” said Miss Muffet.
“I wish to be free and go back to my tuffet!”

Said the Goose, “dear Miss Muffet, you’ve traveled so long

“and much longer than others. I see that you’re strong.
“If you wish to be cured of the sins that you bear
“Just one change you should make, and I think it quite fair.”

Said Miss Muffet in haste “I will do as you ask.”

Said the Goose in response, “You have one simple task.
“and that task is to look at the life that you live
“And to give it more meaning. With meaning you give

“A more colorful story, more colorful life

“A fantastical fable, a moral-tale rife
“With much more than a tale of a girl and a spider
“I need more than that bland act of sitting beside her!”

“I need more than your curds and much more than your whey
“I need more than the cheap fear and running away
“I need more than your bottom end parked on a tuffet
“I need truth that goes farther, from you, dear Miss Muffet.”

“But you are my mother!” said Miss quite confused.

“It is you who decided my fate, Mother Goose!
“I can’t live my life as some cheap allegory,
“I can’t change my ways if you’ve written my story!”

The Goose stared back angrily, chest high and puffed

And with no words for Muffet she sat there, quite fluffed.
Miss Muffet had made up her mind. With a spin
She turned on her foot and went back to her sin.

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ii.
It’s a horrifying moment when you realize that your Dad responds to liquor in
the same way that you do,
That while you drink one part Amsterdam to one-part Sprite,
he drinks one-part Jack Daniels to one-part Sprite.
It’s a horrifying moment when you realize that the man who has only ever talked
to you about cars,
Sways the same way after one drink,
And laughs the same way after two.
It’s a horrifying moment when the room lightly spins, and you see your Dad
smile and know he’s spinning too.

At least I’m not the one uncomfortable around brown people.

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iii. Rain

When I run my hand

Along the goosebumps
Across my arms
I cannot distinguish
Between the touch
Of my hand on my arm
And my arm on my hand
And the distinctive smell
Of worms.

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iv. Glass

I cut my hand on broken glass today and thought of you.

It was a lightbulb and I was picking up the shattered pieces.
Just like the time we were 15 and you stepped on a broken Snapple bottle on the
sidewalk without looking.
Or the time when we were 16 and you came over to keep me company while I
cleaned my room. You wanted to help and you cut your hand on a
broken light bulb I forgot to warn you about.
Or the time we were 17 and danced barefoot in the hot sand. Our feet were so
dried out and yours started to bleed.
We would always patch you up and everything would be fine. We would laugh
about it later.
I would leave for Winona, and you would leave for Kenosha, and I’m assuming
you’ve probably cut yourself on more glass since.
When I cut my hand on broken glass today, it hurt.

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v. No More Training Wheels

there’s a quiet thrill in biking with closed eyes

the moment my lids close everything becomes still
and my body warps through the physical world effortlessly
while I am suspended in the amniotic fluid of time and space

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vi. Still Life

A single tree stands alone in the night time

Hiding in a row of lamp posts
Its yellow leaves have fallen onto the dark green grass
And cover the ground with light.

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vii. If You Absolutely Must…

…fit yourself inside of a box, I encourage you to go sledding in it.

Duct tape some linoleum to the bottom to reduce friction,
And let third graders decorate the sides with washable markers.

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