A.j. Binash is a post-post-post-modernist poet from La Crosse, WI. He has released a book of poetry entitled Cautionary Tales of an American Boy Out Past Curfew (Rattlesnake Valley Publishing) . He has also been featured in the W.F.O.P. (Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets) Muse- Letter and Murmurations Magazine.
Also a performer-Binash has shared the stage with Acker award winning poet ... more »
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A.j. Binash Poems
I sat in my car Outside the Goodwill Playing with distorted shadows
In All Honesty
The nurse led me from the waiting room Into a neutral white room She instructed me to sit I did as told
You Get What You Deserve
Last night we spoke About our dead child. A whiskey slur stuck to the corner of my mouth I tried to touch the moment with useful words
I am Shamed. I am Drunk.
Like a shadow birthed From dawn-light's approach. I hide between the pink and red Of pollution's grandeur.
Dying Sheriff. Dying Thief.
He coughs. Blood splatters in a neat row of red dots. Inches from the badge, on his breast pocket. Another unfinished sentence, punctuated by multiple periods. -Ere’s what I think. I think I should shoot ya. Right ere, right naw. I could shoot ya. In the head. But I think all the thieven ya done, is up there, up there in yir head. Just waitin ta get out. That be the last sight I git.
The Golden Calf Is Beautiful.
She kneels by her bedside. Wrinkles the linens Draped across her mattress. By placing folded fingers
Once In a Lifetime
She un-folded the lawn chair, Placed it on the flat surface Of her driveway.
Can I Talk
I want a mute To give me advice On the bravery
Some Children Are Better Off
Her mother would chase her own shadow. Sprinting footsteps created vibrations That shook the kitchen cabinets.
Making Love, or Making Babies?
For love to be a success, One must follow a sequence Of preordained obligations.
The Toilet Is blushing feces. Urine is leaking
A philosopher rolls on a snare drum. Growing the laugh-lines Of a studio audience.
Your First Day of College
On the first day of class-The Professor slammed a ruler Onto his desk. A crowd of students gasped
Just a week ago You were twirling my chest hair Around the tips of your fingers And I smiled
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
I sat in my car
Outside the Goodwill
Playing with distorted shadows
The glare off the sun
Over the frost designs
On my window
I poured two…maybe four
Shots of brandy
Into my coffee
A swirl of steam
Twirled under my nose
The scent of alcohol
Provided the catalyst
The physical labor
I was about to endure
I walked inside
And the sad faces of the poor
Displayed through their
Stood before me
Wreaking of cigarettes
'This is your partner for ...