righthand angle of a continuous curve

blunt trauma press –

Somewhere in California Jack Henry sits on a bar stool waiting with the patience of monuments, it’s not necessary to know what or who he’s waiting for – that’s his damned business. Jack Henry writes with the passion of an addict about to inhale and the insight of a loner out on a desert highway looking for a ride. In ‘The Right Hand Angle of a Continuous Curve’ Jack Henry continues to seek solace in the memory of the women he never really knew, didn’t really want to know, and a few he knew too damn well. Jack has no qualms about drinking alone, accepting rides from strangers or sleeping in unmade beds. Sometimes it’s easier to just not give a shit. Sometimes it’s easier to stand out on the highway alone . . . sometimes you find a piece of writing with the urgency of a lover about to fuck, and sometimes you get fucked. On the continuous curve Jack Henry’s driving, there are no emergency exits – buckle up.

available at some point in 2012…

Tags: blunt trauma press, jack henry, jack henry poetry

prose: maid’s day off

Maid’s Day Off

Mary lived at the end of the hall. The only chance I had to speak with was the night she shot her husband with a .357.

prose: temporary vice

Sara shook my hand with a firm grip and apologized for a cold hand.

“Well, it is 20 degrees out?”

“Is it? Really?” She seemed genuinely surprised or faked it well.

Tags: jack henry, sex, writing

poem: the shallow graves of those left behind…for the 99%

the shallow graves of those left behind
police wander around
wait for instruction from a man in high tower,
a tower covered in ivy and privilege
and a spoon of silver still resting on a lapdog’s tongue -

poem: east of where i stand

my brain fills
with scattershot landscapes,
tumble weeds blow dead
across long flat rivers of black asphalt,
trees and shrubs bend from a ceaseless wind,
dust carves veins atop dry clay river bottoms –

Tags: anti-poetry, jack henry, jack henry poet, jack henry poetry, poem, Poetry, sex

poem: lost in a myth of my own creation

there’s a scar on her back
and I wonder
is that where the magic starts?

Tags: anti-poetry, fuck you poetry, poem, sex

update -

if you are actually reading this and not downloading the adult images i have hidden around this blog, this is an update on the writing-side of jck hnry. there are no links to adult images herein, so if that is your destiny, please move on…for now. Ha!

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a recent review of yours truly appears here. it is quite positive and interesting to read, especially from my perspective. even with this now my fifth or sixth book/chap, i am amazed that people take the time to review. it is always a pleasure to discover insight other eyes hold…

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george anderson over at bold monkey did a rather lengthy and intriguing review of CRUNKED. there is an interview with the author at the end of the review where i sound completely pompous and a bit drunk. all that is here.

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CRUNKED can be purchased at either Small Press Distribution and AMAZON. Click on either to buy. As yet I do not have copies. Not enough cash for a pre-publication buy…soon, maybe.

Tags: crunked, fuck you poetry, jack henry, sex

prose: an argument

prose: an argument
by Jack Henry on Monday, October 3, 2011 at 9:54pm.

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Note: Totally random and without edit. A five minute right because my internet is so fucking slow.

poem: sublimation

poem: sublimation
i am a 1950s suburban housewife
standing at a door,
knowing but not wanting him to return after a day at an office,
or an afternoon with his whore;
alone in a kitchen,
masturbating to memories,
lost in a fog of anti-depressants and household chores,
Leave It to Beaver beatitudes
and paint-by-numbers Barbie play sets -

Tags: jack henry poet, Poetry, underground poetry, with the patience of monuments

poem: angels of disrepair

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and still the whispers echo
long after the rope’s been cut,
bodies removed,
sinners and saints retired from the town square,
the center of the world,
the center of life,
the very core of it all -

Tags: anti-poetry, creative writing, jack henry, jack henry poet, jack henry poetry, Poetry, sex

poem: atop the bones of dead saints

we place stones one by one
atop the bones of saints
felled by the voices of disbelief
and disintegration -
and no more to dance
in fields laid flat by the footsteps
of hooligans and martyrs,
carrying their flames and fears
within the clench of trembling hands -

Tags: anti-poetry, fuck you poetry, jack henry, Poetry

poem: fields afire

there is no silence at the center
of a garden filled with dead flowers
and falling leaves;
a garden surrounded by armor and brick
and the bones of soldiers gone so long from us now -

Tags: anti-poetry, creative writing, fuck you poetry, jack henry, poem, Poetry, sex

poem: driftwood

tv’s buzzing some old movie -
undercover angels chasing demon dope -
ceiling fan spins lazy -
winter’s begins a slow drift in -

traveling to PHOENIX

so I will be traveling to Phoenix shortly and you know how I love Phoenix…not so much, but I will leave a couple of pics and report back later. as an FYI i have submitted many poems to many places in anticipation of many rejections, because i love rejection…