Cotangents*of Yevgeny

One of my poems has been published on a site! 

Here's the link to the page!

Cotangents of Yevgeny

-a teenage love story

Johanna Salinas

Part 1

Dec. 20, 2012

“I hope the apocalypse

will be as pretty as you!”

Yevgeny shouts

as he forgets

himself into the

brown ankle deep puddle

he insists is a pond.

His Queen, Yudina, blushes

a rosy bouquet as

her virginal

heart snaps

this moment into

her Memory Museum.

Please Yevgeny, please

don’t break her virginal

heart.  Dang it!

Get yourself out

of the mud and

into her love!

Do it now

before she realizes

what a total loser you are.

Do it now

before the earth caves in

with the stars.

Part 2

Dec. 21, 2012

“Welcome to the nightmare!”

Yevgeny sang as he

hid from the future

under a pile of dead leaves,

but lost himself

in the darkness

of a vacuum

of beautiful things.

Dec. 22, 2012

“I dreamed

we were dead,”

Yudina breathed.

“And I remember being so happy.”

Part 3

A Letter to Yevgeny From His Queen

Dear Goofball,                                                                                                                     

Somewhere in heaven,

an angel must be fainting from madness

because I made a wish

on the constellation

of pimples below your eyes.

Because tossing well-earned money

down a well

just isn’t enough

to contain my adoration of YOU.

Killing those dumb dinosaurs

couldn’t have said it more.

Streets graffiti me with neon and traffic

but all I know is you.  

All I see is your silvery surprised blink

as I dance along to the parade song

stuck in your head.

Somewhere a village is being deprived

 of an idiot because

I wished for you.

 

*the opposite of a tangent 

my tale about the Psycho’s secondhand tale (a poem)

The Psycho told it with drollness…I heard it like this:

The 5000 children were waiting before sunrise

Each brought three items for the Creep to sign

They love him—he is their passion, their hero

They love his genius and style

To them he is a breathing masterpiece

They praise the darkness that he brings into the atmosphere

And get high off his eerie aura

The Creep was tired but willing

His Organizer could see the stress shine off him and gently she rubbed the Creep with ice

Within the first half hour his eyes were wilting, his frown was turning to stone

“My fingers are bleeding,” he mumbled as he scribbled a child’s copy of his misery

“Can you get me some bandages?” he asked his Organizer

“Wait! No!” a kid protested. “Don’t bandage him until he bleeds on my book!”

Every child in line heard this and a chorus of 5000 cried, “Not fair! If the Creep bleeds on his book he has to bleed on my book!”

WTF is what went through his Organizer’s mind

Creep’s jaw fell

She couldn’t believe this poet didn’t know what to say—he was caught off guard

“They’re your fans,” she said

He spread blood on each of those kids’ three things

He was very sustainable with his blood, deepening each wound before cutting a new one

…The Psycho told this story with pleasure and wit

The audience laughed, as if it were the Psycho who had to cut his fingers for 5000 kids