Two Poems

Stakeout the Stakeout

 

unmarked cop car

parks outside our apartment

 

complete w/ aviatored pigs

& code words for the county king

 

and suddenly we’re

staking out the stakeout—

 

or if they’re only chicken

pranksters, faking out the fakeout—

 

un-cupboarding binoculars

holstering homemade mace

 

(just in case) they resort

to full-metal storming the place

 

akin to looking in a two-

way mirror, we abhor the beasts

 

we are becoming

a special-ops staring contest

 

where each squad picks

a winner not by citing speed but stalling

 

aiming long-haul w/o breathing

undercover, underwater even

 

the enemy begins to

leak his weakness, needing

 

caffeine     tobacco

hoagie           doughnut

 

but by that time

we’ve already replaced our heady gaze

 

w/ braced stuffed animals

& balancing broom handles

 

b/c the only way to

shake a stakeout is to

 

take the long-awaited

look-away & lose the

 

lay-low                                     lair


torch the place & watch it burn

hands-reeking-o-line

                                                            oops did i do that?

 

                  fuck             yes           i        did

 

it’s how you redecorate      the dead

 

    their preferred palate:

 

white flame

 

nest-bounded by burn-baby-burned blues    barbequing you

 

 to glow

 

shades of sun     fading to          grayscale cinders

 

the satisfaction’s           in        the     spectacle

 

whether you’re  delinquent relinquishing

      the trauma site of history      (hissing)

 

or        pure covering up    the all-too-common crimes

 

you or your lovers committed

 

dragging (conveniently located) gas

 

     or opening its passage to diffuse

 

—the world so full   of flammables—

 

each sketch the interior    inevitably fiery

 

      completed    with a final gesture

 

 the flick of a match

 

 or lighter lowered

 

commence

 

smoldering

to an infrastructure of ash

 

flames reflect off your eyes

 

attention

 

running away

 

vengeance

 

faking yr own death       all       require

      a proper torch      to see

 

  the escape enabling us

    to get   away        with

      everything


DYLAN KRIEGER and VINCENT CELLUCCI are partners in crime and poetry in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, where they each earned an MFA in creative writing from LSU. Dylan has published work in Quarterly West, Deluge, Juked, So and So, Small Po[r]tions, Smoking Glue Gun, TENDE RLOIN, and Psychopomp. Titles from Vincent include An Easy Place/To Die, Fuck Poems, come back river, and _A Ship on the Line.