November 10th, 2009 / 11:42 am
Author Spotlight & Excerpts & Presses

Ariana Reines Week, Part 2: The Hot Tub / Glory Hole Part 1

capitalist realism

Did you follow that headline? New from Mal-o-Mar Editions is a poetry split– Jon Leon’s The Hot Tub and Dan Hoy’s Glory Hole, together in one spine. You might remember Jon from Hit Wave, the wonderful chapbook he did for Kitchen Press, and Dan Hoy is of course the co-editor of Soft Targets, the journal that did one (two?) legendary issue(s) before apparently winking out of existence, though it, like Jesus, may yet one day return. Anyway, to celebrate the Leon-Hoy Pact (it’s like the Glass-Steagall act, kind of) I thought it would be nice to pair some of their poems together, in little flights. We were doing this the other night at my house–me and some friends, getting slowly loaded on asscheap bourbon and reading these proudly defiant poems of obscene opulence and opulent obscenity aloud to one another. Fun starts after you click the button.


I throw down miracles

because I’m a coward. The sky

is exactly how I feel all the time.

I like fire and blood and being

fucked with or called forth.

I might as well jerk my own face.


I wake up in a vortex near The Raleigh. Stumble out into a blitzkrieg of heat. I think I’m near an ocean. I go up to a local aquaria and order a Cuervo and lime twist. It’s morning I think. So I left 3 days ago on The Crescent. Several hot teenagers walk by in red bikinis. My suit is sort of wrinkled. I follow the length of an unholy green wall, watch some fish scuttle by, nearly trip on a puppy. Some books and then rollerblading.


My problem is I dream the entire world

is everything. Instead

of stars and bad forms of God

I drive like an asshole because it’s the truth.


I’m standing on the corner of Martin and McDowell. I pinch my crotch as a limo rolls past. A bank of fluorescent lights accentuates the whole thing. In my head I’m rolling back the years. I go into a vacant building that’s empty, pop some batteries into my Walkman, and dance myself to tears. When I walk outside there’s a train. I get on it.

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