amphibi.us » »Anthony Liccione http://amphibi.us Fri, 10 Feb 2012 20:08:48 +0000 en hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.2.1 from the whores, pimps, drugs and bars http://amphibi.us/all/from-the-whores-pimps-drugs-and-bars/ http://amphibi.us/all/from-the-whores-pimps-drugs-and-bars/#comments Thu, 25 Mar 2010 15:55:40 +0000 Shannon Peil http://amphibi.us/?p=1866 much of this doesn’t exist anymore,
the ammunition to keep that pen firing,
such a place where you could buy powder
for 15 cents to kill someone
and then your nose,
is now bulldozed, replaced with
a new building called Little Paris,
don’t know what touristy
shit they sell… but they say
his name echoes up from the ground,
but

every time I buy some food
at Zankou Chicken,
I have to drive by Buk’s old
apartment a block away.
too bad he moved to San Pedro.
what a waste. to be from
the whores, pimps, drugs and bars,
but I guess even guys like him
want a nice place by the sea
when they get old.


© Anthony Liccione, 2010
[others]
]]> http://amphibi.us/all/from-the-whores-pimps-drugs-and-bars/feed/ 5 the neighbors http://amphibi.us/all/the-neighbors/ http://amphibi.us/all/the-neighbors/#comments Thu, 04 Feb 2010 20:43:52 +0000 Shannon Peil http://amphibi.us/?p=1439 I have shot
the neighbors
dead in their car

because they run
over my garden
when turning
into their driveway,

they have torn up
the tulips and
spit out the
white stones
encasing them
for no excuse,

flicking cigarette
butts from
their middle finger,
where now my driveway
is looking more
like an ashtray,
than a place
to park a car,

they party cake
and make all
sorts of noise
till 2am
shooting off bb guns
at tin beer cans

that pit-bull
dog of theirs
barks and barks
yanking on his chain
around a dead tree,
that one day
will snap,

I regret the old lady
that previously
lived there,
her fresh aroma
apple pies
cooling in the
windowsill, where
lazy yellow daisies
sat soaking a sun,
had suddenly died
and peace
left with her,
after they moved in,
so
without warning,
I took them out,
when the morning
dew was still fresh
on their windshield,

that baneful dog,
a mother, her fire-
cracker son
and father still
in the house,
messing with his
shoelace

the police
are looking for me
as hounds from hell,
I keep them
five inches
from my heel,
but they don’t
know that its
easier to die
running fear,
than drown a tranquil
jail cell

and no one
will ever know
tulips ever
existed inside
the mind
of a
broken house

feeding on
leftover beer.



© Anthony Liccione, 2010
[others]
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