science – Cajun Mutt Press

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 07/07/23

July 7, 2023 James D. Casey IV

Big Science

I trudge to the interstate and follow
it to the place that loved me once.
A day-burned man asks me to move
into his shadow. “I’m just trying to feed
my three fears dinner since I lost
my job at the cloud factory.” Recession
is a four-letter word. No one knows
the night’s middle name, but we all
hit it up for something to do. He’ll never
forgive me for getting so fat. Maybe
it’s not easy being you, but I’d sure
like to try. Everyone along the road cheers
for the rat that found all that pizza.
At least somebody made good. Graffiti
is another name for love. Take me
to the kitchen and let me fry you up
something. I’ll just clear the bullets
out of the way so I can shred some
cheese. Jesus would never be caught
dead in your church. What will you give
winter for its birthday? Knock out
a wall so you have room for a writing
desk. When the ceiling comes down,
start a new chapter. Pencils made
of licorice. A joke no one else can hear.
It’s so expensive to pay for everyone
else’s lifestyle. All of this used to be
protoplasm. And will be again. When I
was a boy, I used to hunt these hills.
Never got a damned thing. Now, I hit
KFC after work. Progress. That’s just
what Big Science wants you to think.

Raised on a rice and catfish farm in eastern Arkansas, CL Bledsoe is the author of more than thirty books, including the poetry collections Riceland, The Bottle Episode, and his newest, Having a Baby to Save a Marriage, as well as his latest novels Goodbye, Mr. Lonely and The Saviors. Bledsoe lives in northern Virginia with his daughter.

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 05/05/23

May 5, 2023 James D. Casey IV

Arguing With Myself Over Sushi

Standing in line for buffet sushi
when an adult-looking version
of my adolescent self
emerges from the body
of my current self
scornfully asking if I’ve lost myself
causing me to crumble my fish roe
into a tray of Tuna roll.

I think about telling
the unburdened version of myself
a defeated man
can bleed enough
to change the world

instead I relay
what I learned about love
after a poorly crafted double date

love lies at the intersection
of Science and Art

when the integers and perspectives
have been
mapped

you may end up marrying
the woman
who is currently
trying to bang
your roommate

but if you keep your compass pointed north
there is reason to believe
you can be more than
the life the universe delivered you into.

Considering your devotion to myth
I surmise
philosophizing with you
would be like the relationship
between masturbating
at Thomas Paine’s funeral
and a tree falling in the woods

if there’s no one around
to debate the metrics of morality
then who’s gonna fucking say anything.

Stricken with a sense of superiority
I assert the high ground

drawing a dick vacationland
across the pimpled grill
of my immaturity.

Waterskiing
dicks
cutting the wake.
Dick golfers fighting sand traps.
Volleyball dicks
spiking the line.

Consumed by the desire
to outgrow the limits
of my vocabulary

instant karma
taking agency
from some theoretical
form of alien limb syndrome

still not having realized
I’m using the same words
just holding a different flashlight

my younger self
reversed directions
taking the marker from my now self
drawing havoc causing dicks
across the goofy man-face
of my maturity.

Dick pilots bombing
the intersections
of my perfectly creased brow.
Pirate dicks pillaging
the astute fields
of my engaging cheekbones.
Dick ninjas descending
the cracked lines
of my auspicious nose.

As my immature self retaliates
drawing dicks on my current self
the drawings appeared
on my immaturity.

The outward expression
of my inner moral argument
layered with dead fish
& avocado

finding common ground
in the unsympathetic
language of dick jokes

confident
that even though heroes
make better sandwiches
than people

there is no way to tell
the difference between
buffet sushi
and enlightenment

without being willing
to get covered in dick drawings
and fish.

Jeff Taylor lives with his wife and kids in Massachusetts where he has been writing poems since the late 90’s and hosting The Garage Poets Open Mic since 2020. Jeff has performed at universities, theaters, festivals, bars, coffee houses, and sidewalks across the east coast and to global audiences online, you can find his work in recent issues of Bombfire Lit, Ethel Zine, Oddball Magazine, as well as upcoming in anthologies from Read or Green Books, Cooch Behar, and Alien Buddha Press.

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 05/19/21

May 19, 2021 James D. Casey IV

Last Will and Testament

Fuck a funeral!

Use the money you’d spend on mine

to celebrate the only proper way:

with drugs and alcohol.

You don’t even have to celebrate me,

just fuckin’ celebrate!

Or give the money to a good cause.

Just don’t give it to something boring,

like a church, please.

There’s enough reason in the world to be sad,

the inevitable shouldn’t be made worse by a

public display of platonic-necrophilia and tears.

No one should have to dress up and be miserable,

especially on my behalf.

I don’t wanna be buried,

cremate me!

Gimme to science!

Whatever!

I won’t give a fuck, I’ll be dead!

As my grandfather used to say,

“Shove a bone in my ass and have

the dogs drag me away.”

Well I got two assholes,

so I’ll need a shit ton of dogs.

Let graverobbers steal my body,

before it’s given over to the dirt,

like they did Lincoln’s,

and have a manhunt across the nation!

We’ll save them a step and a stop at

Home Depot for a shovel.

Don’t waste valuable land on wastes of space.

Build a hospital or a school.

Fuck it, I’d rather people frack or

build yuppie townhouses!

On a second thought,

I have one request,

please don’t fuck my corpse.

I don’t find it disrespectful,

just weird.

Joe Szalinski is a writer & performer from Pittsburgh, PA. He attended Slippery Rock University for his undergrad in writing & literature. Since returning to his native Pittsburgh, he’s been busy performing comedy, acting, making music, and writing. His writing, both creative and academic, has appeared in Defenestration, The Howling Press, The Short Humour, PS It’s Poetry (an anthology), and RockScissorsPaper.