debauchery

A mid Winter warm sun agonized behind the hills
When Rupert called in ecstasy
An orgy dome! —He could barely breathe
An orgy dome!

Substance abuse, online gambling, petty theft
That was Rupert all along
Only that mid Winter afternoon
When sun was fading fast
As I cried alone at a Wal Mart parking lot
He was more than that

The Uber of porn
The Amazon of sex
The Google of fetishes
The Yahoo! of unsatisfactory intercourse

That was Rupert, too

He got certified for medical marijuana in Arizona
Made a buck or two selling what he was not smoking
Rupert was also selling home made nudes as Art
With a capital A

Rupert spoke in a soft calm voice when he was not intoxicated
Rupert just embodied the alienation of ageing Pre Millenials

I was going crazy by myself
Caged inside that crippled 1993 Buick
And all I could think about was the 3.4 million people employed as cashiers in America
An orgy dome! —He insisted in delight

And then I could see it: An orgy of 3.4 million cashiers, under a yellow brick dome
In low, low light, in ghastly sweaty darkness

Rupert was the Netflix of panhandlers
The Mapquest of lost souls

It was getting late
I was getting tired
While he explained his very own holy trinity: Overstock, Overprice, Overkill

Pity Rupert. Pity the debauchery. Pity the state of decay of the great American People.

Don't pity orgies, though.



julian bailey (Tucson, AZ, 1977)

the young american poets, they are a-changin'

so yes, we've been absent for a little while, for reasons fair and strong enough to halt our regular posting.

basically, as you may have noticed, our masthead has changed. we welcome our good friend and longtime contributor to this blog Beatrice Kaplan (Pembroke, NH, 1985), who has recently joined our editorial team. that should put an end to our existence as a boys-only club, something we never intended to be.

as for our friend and YAP co-founder Julian Bailey, he is just taking a break from YAP to pursue an MFA in his native Arizona. let this post be a virtual yet warm send-off for him. Julian, you will be missed.

also, we want to announce that Young American Poets will undergo a major facelift, to be completed towards the end of November. we'll keep you posted about the news.

now, back to poetry.


The Young American Poets team

america at a loss

i read an interview where ryszard said
look at art and you'll see what a society is up to
not exactly like that
(ryszard, you know, put his ideas in a much more elegant way)
but that was the concept, basically
(he was polish, a great journalist, a better thinker, look him up in wikipedia)

so i look at art in america
and i find julia allison
janet jackson half naked
televised singing contests
fifteen million dollar cascades
films that are content being just flicks
faster and more furious
and at the barrell's bottom
dirty and malnourished
i see poetry agonizing

(a century ago, someone said that "nothing but itself can harm american poetry")

empires don't last forever
we learnt with rome
these days, it seems
they are use and throw away

i look at art in america
and see america at a loss


julian bailey (Tucson, AZ, 1977)

behold, the american idol

the american idol was some guy from guatemala
or honduras, i can't remember exactly
(i got tons of hate mail for that confusion)
let's agree he was from some country in central america
(fascist they called me, the gentler ones)
and he was the winner of a television singing contest

behold, the american idol
thou shalt worship yer teenage deity
let his singing guide us in the darkness

believing hurts
god's been on vacation
for a long time now
enjoying the amenities
of his time share
(god, don't let them fool you into buying an upgrade)

i look around but people have gathered in the arena
to see the idol from a safe distance
i feel alone
i see the dawn of the darkest age
no rat in a cage
no pig on antibiotics
just an outcast
a non believer
the last scum on earth


julian bailey (Tucson, AZ, 1977)