Dell’s Place



taste the blue jeans

laced with rawhide

hawklike shot glasses

buddy? Hastening,

gyrating band on trial


Circular ghosts

bouffant hairdos on white




greased back

mix it


Hey Fella!

He gotta dollar

Weasel clapped

Assorted puddles goin’ round

your girl

Put another species down

She picked beer-soaked

Loretta trash


real peach

real beautiful darlin’

pitcher like a bulge

prize fightin’ buck


Luscious banged

a buck fawty

professional to the top


like a rooster saying goodbye


Perky Jackie!

perky. wonnerful job


troupe write it



You’ve Never Been This Far Before

a wicker basket

a fine book


one handle in the Lot

flannel open

to the teeth

easy smile talent


Make it Air Dance

hope you like it


hangover salt grimace

cock flick here


goldfish bowl consciousness there

geographical freak


a cynic, a pump short hell

a boo stomach

Meetcha teachin’ in the dimness


pity the dissolution

armpit vibration

sack it

flip it

smart son o whore




to you




Author's note: This is a found poem. Text is taken from King, Stephen. Salem’s Lot. New York: Random House, 1975. Print. pages: 183-198.

Please reload

© 2019 Rag Queen Periodical  website  designed by M. Perle Tahat