Poems by Ian Ganassi and collage from The Corpse Series — a collaboration between Ganassi and painter Laura Bell

LIMPING IN

Everything’s fine, shut up and eat your burger.
Let’s turn on the radio and listen to the rain delay.
I cannot keep this up, said the celibate teacher;
He was listing to the right, like a disabled freighter.

Let’s turn on the radio and listen to the rain delay.
I found it more interesting than the game.
He was listing to the right, like a disabled freighter.
Man the forestays, heave away my hearties.

I find it more interesting than the game.
We can make bets on when the rain will stop.
Man the forecastle, heave away my hearties.
And when found, overhaul the page.

We can make bets on when the rain will stop.
Heads I win, tails you lose.
And when found, overhaul the page.
Loss is the name of the game, while you accrue.

Heads I win, tails you lose.
This is old song and will not declare itself.
Loss is the name of the game, while you accrue.
It’s a question of accruing faster than you lose.

This is old song and will not declare itself.
I cannot keep this up, said the celibate teacher.
It’s a question of accruing faster than you lose.
Everything’s fine, shut up and eat your burger.

FRANKLY, MY DEAR

Tobacco smoke gutters in the tinselly air.
I considered suicide but decided on indigence.
The corpse is swaddled in more than one shroud.
Ancient aromas like sandalwood preserve us.

I considered suicide but decided on indigence.
After all, how much proof is there to prosecute?
Ancient aromas like sandalwood preserve us.
What else would be strong enough to cut the smell?

After all, how much proof is there to prosecute?
The copy read scarlet at all the lettered places.
What else would be strong enough to cut the smell?
The red marker bled excessively on the white page.

The copy read scarlet at all the lettered places.
“I’ll never go hungry again,” she said. “Want to bet?” I said.
The red marker bled excessively on the white page.
I just took the pills fifteen minutes ago.

“I’ll never go hungry again,” she said. “Want to bet?” I said.
I also said, “You look more unhappy than I feel.”
I just took the pills fifteen minutes ago,
They probably haven’t kicked in yet.

I also said, “You look more unhappy than I feel.”
The corpse is swaddled in more than one shroud.
The pills probably haven’t kicked in yet.
Tobacco smoke gutters in the tinselly air.

LIVING DEAD INDEED

Once dead always dead. And all I got was this nicely folded
Flag. But there wasn’t much else left; the hustler had taken
Just about everything before the bunco squad caught up with her.

Neither could they pin it on her. Or find the rest of the loot.
“She was quiet, kept herself to herself.” But never mind about
Whether people are inherently good or bad; you would need a long

Vacation to figure that out, a long vacancy. At a cheap hotel.
There’s little time left to find out what it was the candle
Wanted to illuminate, as the stiff lay on his stiff board,

Starting to stink, an old door newly painted Cerulean blue.
I got the Cerulean blues etc. Cerulean Blue is like
A gentle breeze. The immense motion of games played for keeps,

I hope the smoking man is in this one. And the smashed
Marbles of childhood... I was just wondering what they were
Made of. All I found was colored glass and some blood where

They cut me. They were much better in one piece. Buying
Firecrackers for a quarter apiece from the punks down
The street. That was just the beginning. “No more free tastes,

Kid.” It’s a rough neighborhood, even in the suburbs.
Whatever it happens to be at a given time, you can bet
You’ll get hooked. That’s how they get you. First it’s marbles,

Then it’s firecrackers. The arrangement was short-lived.
The flower arrangement, that is. It was stale by the time I gave
it to her. The things of which we are unaware would slay us,

Which is why there’s something built-in, preventing most of us
From walking too close to the edge. And everyone
Likes the bliss of their ignorance, for as long as it lasts.