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SAN DIEGO 70 CONNECTICUT 69
michael schiavo



Dear Fatty

          something like in Halicarnassus

                    around the sun gorging on livestock

          to stay warm. It’s July. It’s St. Louis.

Tell me ’bout unicorn grapes again

          how you can fit at least a dozen in your mouth

                    more if the funk is freeing. A casual

          remark to the centaur allowed you waltz.

Luck of the Scottish. Tell me Fatty

          does not the ground the very fabric upon

                    which you gate become like a valley

          when you fart rippling out this way

& that the hamlets & hollows composing

         our fair republic. I should think it mighty fine

                    if the turkeys you saw this morning mated.

          Those geese settled in the field Monday night

when they take wing to whatever

          fair haven they might be traveling will the ghost

                    you startled them with be remembered?

          You’re a pretty pumpkin Fatty. I lured you

from the wilderness to this ruby palace

          so you could see the wonder you are not.

                    Let the tears echo pendulum ’gainst

          Time’s worthless diet routine. Davy Crockett

in the House of Representatives

          you sit there with the Choc-o-Diles

                    ready for to see the vasty desert ranges.

          I think rather Fatty I saw you streaming

up the avenue this other afternoon

          I calling “Colosseo! Colosseo!”

                    to little avail. You could club a thousand bunnies

          when we go to get the oil changed but

if you’re not in the car when I’m ready to go

          you can count yourself out of the orgy.

                    Don’t weep my Fatty. It’s only a matter of space

          before someone large as you loves you too.

True it might not happen with the earth’s axis

          as it’s now but with one mighty thump

                    you could change that. Whole rivers be re-routed

          be sucked up silly down Alabama way.

Our tour’s coming to the middle there’s so many

          places to see the Jack Daniels distillery

                    the Corn Palace Monticello. We haven’t crossed

          the Mason-Dixon line already you’re

asking for remuneration. Fatty you’re worth a million.

          Freckles for sure. Oil the rifle now get her to glisten.

                    I listen in the night for the wind that shrieks

          your name. “Fatty” it cries

“Fatty shut up.”









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LA PETITE ZINE 25 · FREAKY FREEZE

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Michael Schiavo is editor of THE EQUALIZER. His ranges have appeared in FORKLIFT, OHIO, THE NORMAL SCHOOL, THE AWL, FOURTEEN HILLS, COLD-DRILL, JUBILAT, SIXTH FINCH, and WE ARE SO HAPPY TO KNOW SOMETHING. He lives in Vermont.