A salesman is an it that stinks excuse, right? Nobody likes 'em, but everybody buys from them. Makes one rather suspicious of whether people dislike transacting as much as they say they do, doesn't it? I for one can't help but think that were it not for the liars, sales would be one of the most esteemed professions—at least in America. Would I be going too far if I said, 'fuck your anti-sales attitude?' Maybe not. Look around. You love your bookseller, your wine shop (YUPPIE!)... and yes, you love your lawyer if s/he kicks ass. Same with your accountant. Society's material nature conforms to the way we allocate the fruits of our labors. I think of it as a Kantian proposition: you universalize your values—if the world is cluttered with commerce, it is only because you are cluttered with commerce.
Combat Expiration: 12am PST, 2/14/2011
Critique Expiration: 12am PST, 2/16/2011
Bonuses/Penalties: +2 if posted by 8pm PST, 2/11/2011, +1 if posted by 2am PST 2/12/2011, -1 if posted by 6am PST 2/14/2011, -2 if posted by 12pm PST 2/14/2011.
The Rules: http://combatwords.blogspot.com/2010/07/official-rules-for-combatwords-updated.html
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Dear Object of My Desire,
ReplyDeleteI called her cold
and she responded by
adjusting her caller ID.
I was desirous,
persistent, lustful
and determined.
She was aloof,
ambivalent, gated
and on another line.
My best tenders
were deftly rebuffed
while her yield flagged.
What could she possibly see
in that motley fool;
that charlatan of the air?
Perhaps I should pledge
my undying devotion or offer
to lower my commission.
Fiji Mermaid
ReplyDeleteShe sits at the spinet, her knuckles encrusted
with diamonds, the sparkling evidence of her recent E-bay spree.
She grins as she withdraws notes
from the Cole Porter Credit Union. I sit on the couch and try to calculate
the days until that most financially romantic of holidays.
“You’d be so easy to love,” she warbles, but the fact remains
she’s awfully difficult to buy for.
Mounted to the wall above her head as she plays hangs a plaster jackalope
-it baffles me too- her father bought her when she was a child.
Its ersatz horns are chipped; this replica of a fake has seen
better days. We line up to see the centaurs in the Coliseum,
the griffins in the cathedral stone, Barnum’s mummified siren,
the County Fair’s 10th barnyard Wonder of the World.
We cherish our hybrids, our chimeras, and gladly pay
to be assured of their authenticity.
I think of my bank account, the money that will soon change hands
so I can prove to her our beautiful, unlikely beast exists.
I hope I can afford to hope she is convinced.
committed
ReplyDeletei am a mole
living between walls
clinging to lathe strip
drywall mud
dragging my pink tail
through six miles of dust
i suck hot suspicion
between paranoid halls
their voices vibrate
i poke my fringed nose out
fresh air upon my stained claws
deaf and blind and oh so dumb
mom has her knives out
she's grinding them down
their edges stochastic infinities
and her eyes smell like rust
her breath full of religion
from a greased green bottle
blood and fur gather in my belly
leaves my breath sour
because i taste doctors’ wires
her phone call between my teeth
there's no question
she's buying what they’re selling
they’ll come boots soon to leer
with clamps and tongues of beer
god have mercy upon this mole
pulled assfirst through a hole
Vise Sales, Vice Sails [CombatWords Poem, February 11, 2011]
ReplyDeleteThe purchase one dare not speak or name
Has purchased the fullest claim,
All secrets, its blame.
Gilded pussy-pounce:
Cats devour the sea by ounce;
Rubs the pole in buxom dollar bounce.
Speak me so horny, yowl in the heat;
Star in a movie conceit:
Plasma from starbeats.
One's pulse is divided
By molecules blood provided
And needles injected. Sharps. Junk-sided
Sails through the veins to pleasure, pain.
Sales through the brain to leisure, strain.
Sail all our sales; our treasure's slain.
Asians been doing it for years,
ReplyDeleteYet here I stand and finger my plastic;
There's imperfection in the affection,
but the slackers transaction
brings traction to the action,
Cuddle me silly, charge me per hour,
while I pour the wine that opens the flower,
And you can only blame my wallet's resilience,
But the only thing matters is the Girlfriend Experience
/Forpuck