May 28-June 9, 2001: Kelly Fremon and Ryan Mullen

week of May 28-June 9, 2001

Kelly Fremon and Ryan Mullen

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Kelly Fremon
kfremon@uci.edu

Bio (auto)

Kelly Fremon is an English Literature major at the University of California, Irvine She writes and performs poetry in the Orange County and Los Angeles areas, and has been published on-line as well as in Electra magazine She is currently engaged in a year-long University study of the cultural and literal effects of performance/slam poetry She works as a children’s mental health counselor and plans to pursue a career in film or creative direction.

The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Kelly Fremon and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.

Fudge Pops

It only took a single blow from those perfect-timed electric eyes

Two in the afternoon at the supermarket on Sunday
he ruminated over fishsticks
I salivated over sorbet

It was just one hey-ha-ooh-ah glance and we were locked in
like honey currents and fast dry glue

Our lightening skins were saying now,
twist your lips around me now
right here —
frozen foods packed tight, yellow buzzed florescent lights
Seduce me across these helpless greenbean seas
til we cook up that tired Hungryman with our crazy wild-fire heat
til we wave this blessed salsbury with your micro yes and my micro more
til we fly this place

Goo goo tongues fell out our mouths
and stuck to the metal parts of the freezer

Lover kill me quick
stranger crush me now
you eyes like melt, you time like hot
you big bang slip shot ice ice babe
Break me here –
and we will burn this super-kingdom down in glory
and we will tear apart the room with racket and hips
before they start looking
before I die tonight
before the manager comes over
screaming about the chocolate melting right off his fudgepops

There’s a girl

There’s a girl whose lips are pressed against the moon tonight
She’s up there trying to pull planets down outa the black
So she can dress ’em up in something sexy and gold

Send ’em back all prettied up
So they shine shine like heaven
So they bust like glitter child
turning sharp and kicking high
all the way home to mother glory

It’s a big job, I hear
So if you’d like to join her .



Ryan Mullen
mrider00@msn.com

Bio (auto)

Residing in Wausau, Wisconsin, R.R Mullen has been published in “Timepieces” (JMW Publishing, 2001), “Barney Street” (University of Wisconsin, 2001), “Passages in Time” (Midwest Publishers, 2001), and several E-zines including Mi-Poesias R.R is also the winner of the 2000 Duane C Clark Poetry Award He is nineteen.

The following work is Copyright © 2001, and owned by Ryan Mullen and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.

Flight of the Wild Destino

Hands hot
on speeding Destino’s back
Slip
Fistfuls, fistfuls
of hair
Windsock waving legs
dangle behind
Pulled By fistfuls of hair
Grabbing tight with left hand,
righ hand risking the climb
I need breath, I need Destino’s dime
Furthur, closer, forward or ahead?

Right hand feels out for the neck
One-thousand degree red iron neck
Coursing, pumping, surging heat Powered by:
Youthful women crying hours nightly Drying out the young Weaving dream nooses strong enough to
tear mooses head clean off
The left hand joins the right Hot, hard, TIGHT Tight Rivers bulge just under thumb Weakness now clear
Strength The lower back, the pit of Self Writhing, bending strength into arms No more shaking now Click Meditation, the incantations Click Finally worked
Stone I-beam mountain arms
ripping apart with POWER
Tight, tighter, slowing dragon’s
flight
Skin layers One Two Three Evaporate into Destino’s exhaust I can still feel pain in thumbs,
proof they are not lost It is bone versus magma steel John Henry’s greatest test One hell of a fight is left
Growling, spitting, roaring mad
Bone tight Plunging bone Clenching bone Wringing, strangling,
choking bone
Rage
River surges like hammer Hammering away at thumbs Bony damn holds
Destino tries to shake me
with unimaginable acceleration Rushing Rushing Rushing Bone is bending Bone is cracking Adieu Thumbs
Four good strong phalanges
left
Crash, Destino Crash Destino is crashing Sparks, fire, asphalt,
loud Crashing Stumbling,
gasping,
grinding Stumble,
gasp,
grind;
halting
I slip And WHIIIIIIRRRRRRRR She’s gone “Dear Ryan:Thank you for visiting Toasty Poems and sending your poems for my
consideration Although I will not be using them, I do wish you the best in
your future writing and publishing endeavors Sincerely,SM “
Charbroiled brand against chest
Ryan sticks out
non-thumb, ready for another ride Victorious
over
TEST, only burnt on
one side.

Sacrifice and Rice

Dropped out
for the dream
The food walked out first Rows of oranges, loaves, and cans Rice trailed behind last, due
to sheer quantity
Casualty two:
phone pulse goes flat Meaningless plastic corpse
hanging off wall
When the usual pens,
the usual papers
are gone:
pushed mind becomes
remarkably resourceful
inventing devices, surfaces
otherwise unimaginable Oh, ingenious human mind
When the electricity finally
withers away, and the gas gives
it’s last hiss:
the water runs cold,
your blood is cold,
you couldn’t care less
But
But, the music Your stereo is electric Blank in stereo
Cold, dark, emptiness
sharpens the mind’s focus
In sensory depravation
imagination is the only
way
The output defies gravity,
because the input is pure Unspeakable passion,
unspeakable beauty
When you get here:
The Starved Dead Artist,
you reject any possible
promotion to
Starving Artist
Spirituality
Dropping for dreams, slipping into God Rich
Finally, found by
concerned ex-girlfriend
three days later
The stench burns Burns eyes,
lungs,
nose
Well, instead Well instead, I work 4 hours a day,
waiting for the break
I struck a deal with Time:
my youth for fulfillment
But there was grander sacrifice;
not even in my wildest will I ever
write a Great American Novel, etc with more pungent
passion
passion
passion
love
than that stench
Spirituality.

Take a Sip

Take a sip
spit
infinite verse
flowing into cosmos
as watercolor comet
brushing the light of stars
love stretched on soft
white tender
wrinkled morning linen
fingers dangling off edge
grasping upwards into sunlight
thick as sea
like fingernails deliciously
sinking teeth into fresh thighs
a tongue pressing into bliss
electric slide starting at hips
sliding through head toes
curving towards
infinite
like your name
on a book cover
laid on your mother’s coffee table
edge perfectly perpendicular
to the edge

My Love, She’s a Cowgirl

Chrome steed
She’s a rider of the astral sage
Strong from somewhere in the middle of bone
The color is sarcastic
hot pink cowgirl hat
hot pink Stratocaster strapped to back
Straddling my wood Africa drum like Slim Pickens
Only loin clothe
lion tooth necklace
flying
flying
seamlessly clipping along
flying
and she is racing beyond speed and fire
her horse has frozen feet like the Mobil Pegasus
fueled by quantum physics and disbelieving reality
oh she is good, she is very good
whoosh-fast
good at this
I have raced gazelle and occasional cop
but this is
this is
oh I am confusing sound and light
I’m on her tight
but my fuel is tempo
and I cannot think or
my hands will go ground chuck
drumming somewhere on her horizon
the lion’s teeth glow like a warm body
she is close
Throttle throbbing my racing
rhythm ride
vibration of the hand
smashes or passes through drum-hide
I am holding something gold and bright
I cannot peek
but somehow know
I cannot peek
this is love and my only shot
I cannot peek
there can be no distraction
Then distraction
din-dong or ring-rang
I am not sure which
only that it went away and
Suddenly
oh god how many hours
had it been
we were naked wet
sweating all over my Africa sheets
We missed work
and will despise rice by the end of the week
but wheeeeeeeeee