Russell Jaffe
"Always I am reppin’ your soliloquy"

Always I am reppin’ your soliloquy.
Cuddle up to me during this monologue. I am as always a hair bag of a holder.
These wrought iron picture frames of gotta-smiles. These songs like augers
from your throat to your guts and back.
The refusals of your body when your fighting spirit says yes
O yes.
These kitchen counter eat-off-a-plate insistences of our hypersexual role models.
Why do you give a shit about what any of these people think?
Tell the audience why it is you must eat.
Poison your houseplants. Gluestick toenails from dried pantry starches.
Bleach the leftovers.
Wash the dishes with a garden hose by moonlight
assisted by floodlights by the school athletic field they never turn off.
Wincing moon
I will plant
many a fruit tree. Do not eat.
Your quiet soapbox is that of the just-hatched femmest fatale. Cigarette chainlink so.
Birthday party baby hands in the guts
beholden to your splash n' play
frosting to the walls to the stars to our unwashed adult tarps of flesh.
Tell me all this for
I was there for your big vitriol.
I’m not the only man.
I’m just the next man. 

"The void is a funny kind"

The void is a funny kind.
The Alien Queen goes screeching tumbling. TV and satellites do something in there.
The TV on the airplane says come in
I missed you.
I go through it.
I am falling far and fast
but sideways.
Hives in cobweb corner sheds’ command centers. Homes at night. Grand opening specials.
I threw up in another upscale sandwich shop. Meanwhile
construction. Roads. Wires that traverse teeth like land. O driven generation
we crawl like animals over safety grass. Rural fires sneak hits of oxygen in this vacuum.
The will was born of trash. That aural verisimilitude’s a new fashionable baroque.
Hold the hand of myself and you join this profoundly internal antiquity process.
Loss of sync. Static ether. Super doom and a cartoonish loss of gravity. Dream?
Everything always now. Pressed on eyeballs blur into a tunnel so up and down it’s straightforward dubbed over glitch’d out grainy carve dreams into county fairs.
God bound halleluiah
wrists to ankles
as a butter sculpture.
My god’s face in carved cheese.
My god’s weight in the judgment of thrift store electronic shelves.
I hit the ground. O right
I was going sideways.
I hit something.


I was born to talk. Say something stupid go
ahead. You know something say nothing live just live. To be a jellyfish. I’ll speak for animals.
Moon in the bath. The wind breathes backward accordion with a hole in it. Language fails us
like dew wets and eventually leaves the pages of magazines blown from the garbage across
the lawn made crispy lesser virtues of itself. Smells like salt and strawberries. I
spent nearly the entire day on my laptop alone on my couch. I
remember the corde’d phone cord coil so much like ringlets of thick syrup’d pubic hair
so intoxicating yes I once held you. I clutch what is now my second comforter and sleep.
Like exploration machine tracks to nowhere do. Once we were on worlds.
Like how I believe’d people could at their best be the guardians of the universe
but we use free will instead as a closed in temporary agent for minor tourism’s
lack-disclosure embankment no vehicle. Ride nothing. Speaking of big wet
once you told me you swam with dolphins didn’t like it no fucking way not at all. YOU HEAR ME? O you slept all ball’d up in the blanket your exposed feet were little flippers HOW
COULD YOU NOT BE A DELIGHTFUL but now every moment I spend not asleep is sad.
Anyway I prefer jellyfish don’t step on them tho they’re down with pollution. Like poison
everything jellyfish would say thumbs up but O nevermind re: thumbs. Sorry not sorry. 
Anyway might as well poison everything O beloved and see what survives. What takes over
the world. The world’s leftover air of a deflate’d beach ball in the no atmosphere that is a pock on the face of the world.
The drie’d up world remembering on the computer liking pictures of its old friends.
A lot of planets have die’d and still are pretty and still spend all that time alone.
For example if trends have anything to say about it extinction’s gonna happen again
but the ocean will cough up something to breathe and to run the show.
The deep. Impossible light. 
People? O don’t mind us. In our time we ate steaming bowls of askajndnacehnbchjgcdfv.
We fell in love and made excuses not to be together. We returned to our ceremonial
very important fr%TGH??JU65tghsP:L<M;mxfvkmsksg738f,xghcdekfx,gch5f4s.
Offende’d by the light of the single guy bathroom I felt awful just awful for speaking a language any language the dry surface of my face where water canals are long gone
empty. I am affixe’d to this grand design like light the sky’d be from somewhere explode’d long ago. I love’d you. People go and will go. O language something will take care someday.
Buckets left in the sand on a family trip to some sad sea on earth I’m here.
HELLO? Something will take up the mantel O lover let everything die to see what does.
Anyway that’s why I never clean’d up my trash can that fell over. Anyway
the moon the tides remember that O YAHHHHH
JK I don’t. Your ceremonial f,xghcdekfx,gch5f48d3fex78edh832judwzzadaesnsad3
poorly articulated. No such light.
No such waves.
The new opulence. The favor’d evolution.
Kill for it says my longing. Die for it
I mean. 

About Russell Jaffe
Russell Jaffe is the Co-Editor of Strange Cage, a chapbook press, and MC/coordinator of its reading series. He is the author of the collection This Super Doom I Aver (Poets Democracy, '13) and his poems have appeared in and around the internet and IRL. He collects 8-tracks. Get at him at