Poor Claudia published poetry, prose and conversations online and in print from 2009 to 2018.

Ben Doller

Three Poems

  • Cybermonday
  • The Fauxhawk
  • Axe Body Spray

Cybermonday

#flexibleemeralds #spermicidalketchup

#petrochemicalbags #consistofwhattheycontain

#deadscents #sentexpress #madeMEDIA

#omahasteaksubscription #foremangrill

#testosterone&zeranol #droolsthroughthespout

#clabberinginthetunacan #fromamazon

#arisesthecorrugation #fiberboard #ingoosestep

#entombing #agooselivermaskofaman

#Iwillwear #thisrest #therestofmylife

#Iwilltaketherest #ofmylife #uponasettee

#brandedafter #aspokesmodelcloud

#letusnowpray #totheexplicitsentence

#theunequivocal #inorder #tojiveorjibe #precise

#theprivilegeofpunctuation #spitstaintheorder

#thecolonoscope #decrieswherewego

#isitbadtobeevil #ifsoyouareborn

#isiteviltoapostrophize #sacrosanctcenotaphs

#it’sjust #Ihavesomany #leftover excretions

#it’sthe #justwomanman #rejectstheaveragemanwoman

#brandishingan #e-bouquet #HDgeraniums

#I’mforgettingtowritesothatImaybreathe

#handmethetorch #let’sseewhatthissolventsays

#nothingforlunch #butfunnylookingdiskettes

#nothingfornoon #butfurinasock

#themeterisrunning #themeterisrunning

#theincorporation #bouncingabucket #onahotday

#screwedup #blacktop #plasticsound

#nothingbutsun #inplaceofthesupper

#businessinfront #carmageddonintheback

#themeterisruining #themouthfeel

#thepoematablet #protectsyourtongue

#it’snicetolookatthemirrorsometimes #thewallbehind

#swipingyourcardinastranger’sslot

The Fauxhawk

I taught I taw tis evening evening’s cotillion, thing-

craft as a comet complex, copper-cropt-cop buzzard, in its sliding

through the slipstream sonic boom booms the freon-drawn air, and wilding

right there, how it sang upon the scene a careening screaming

in its targeting! Then on, on on it flings

as its steel hurl rolls hard towards a compound: the remote eyeing

reset the map-scale. My flesh in writhing

groaned for a drone,––the R/C of, the detachment of the sling!

Bully booty and power and tact, oh, flair, guide, BOOM!, here

Rubble! AND the pyre that breaks into flame then, a zillion

Times told shinier, more mushroomy, O my musketeer!

No wonder in it: vaped bods make Cloud-cowed civilian

Ka-Ching, kids disremembered, ah my dear,

the report cannot be independently verified.

Axe Body Spray

we the people

assaulting trees

of the other sex

pheremonal ladders

of retinal plastic

boom out the roots

we like ourselves

beast on the proscenium

screen or mallet spike

the split gets heard

in your hands gets

blood on your dust

Milked malt balloon.

Eye jam on the jammies

strike nowhere

we the peephole

survey says

earth googleplex

calliberationist lib

I the ascender

Practicing military time

At a checkout line

Strike somewhere

Checkout my sheckler

She hates good things

Like precolonial ballroom

Prancercise and prototype

apples never to crunch

The sun tm takeout

The papers and the trash

She hates this bikini

I made my man eyes

o skewered birds of film stock

I overlined one entry on nature

from the many versions

thus was peace strung

extremely bright even

highlit blinding evening

amusing eventually

among the shams

technocracy and the adds

much later sold a pun

to get me to go away

I could do this for a living I alleged outloud

as long as I’m awake

revolution is repetition

I bore my friends so

I hate my handle a DVD

Taught myself to fight myself

to a drawing the tv looks better

already inside

papaya mechanique

Ben Doller

Ben Doller is the author of three books of poetry, most recently Dead Ahead (Fence Books), and the forthcoming Fauxhawk (Wesleyan). He lives in San Diego and teaches at UCSD.