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       john haynes 
      john haynes is a writer from cincinnati. his work has previously
      appeared in the in posse review on webdelsol, sendecki.com, nasty
      magazine, and a virtual memorial magazine. also work is forthcoming
      in the webzines lights out media, poethia, the avant garde times
      and in drought: a literary journal. he is currently working on
      several projects including his first novel, an american revolution,
      which is due out in the fall of 2002. he is also co-founder,
      along with his wife tia, of the fountain society, a non-profit
      organization formed to aid emerging artists. 
      Works on this page: 
      his last dispatch 
      mr. b. 
      potters field 
      pretty brown eyes 
      sunday morning 
      voyeur 
        
      his last dispatch
      Knowing him the way I do 
      I wonder what this reporter of life 
      Was thinking-what was the deadline  
      He was trying to beat? 
      Had he written one story about everything  
      He knew and realized his Number 12's 
      Were empty? 
      Was his hunger for breath too much 
      To carry on the comfort stretcher 
      Of his imagination? 
      Were the bombs still going off in his cerebrum 
      When he pointed those two barrels of painkillers 
      At it? 
      Does it matter whether or not it came in the 
      Afternoon or that it came by his 
      Own hand and in Idaho of all places?  
      One is left to wonder 
        
      mr. b
      I saw his 
      cave production 
      and could 
      only wonder 
      who his sound man was 
      as I marched 
      to the patriotic 
      spangled mall 
      and bought 
      a new pair 
      of nikes 
      while thinking that 
      the koran 
      that he was  
      reading from 
      had to have that 
      warholian thing in it 
        
      potters field
      naked screaming 
      is now 
      naked laughter 
      as I dance on 
      the grass 
      it is unmarked 
      and well 
      it should be 
      because 
      anonymous 
      molestation 
      by worms 
      isn't enough 
      justice for you 
      you genital 
      bastard 
        
      pretty brown eyes
      Plain standing  
      next to blue 
      but standing 
      eyes 
      eventually have  
      to sit 
      down and  
      stop staring 
      because 
      kentucky jim crow 
      lawyers 
      don't have 
      a case 
      and don't 
      understand that 
      the caramel color 
      of her shoulders 
      in the sun 
      is worth dying for 
        
      sunday morning
      In mercurial closets I sell  
      My plasma to the highest bidder 
      And drive away with my 
      Daily bagel intact 
      Passing all three of them- 
      Consolation Baptist 
      Deliverance Temple 
      Cathedral of Praise 
      Realizing that I'm 
      Somewhere in between 
      As the grey ladies who 
      Guard the corners 
      Flash lily gnashing teeth 
      At my half eaten circle of bread 
      And tell me to keep driving  
      Just keep driving 
        
      voyeur
      I don't know you 
      but I love you 
      I've seen you 
      in your underwear 
      and I've seen you 
      leaving for work 
      You are constantly 
      in my thoughts 
      even in the times  
      that we are alone 
      And you cry over 
      mysterious things 
      even then I love you 
      even though sometimes  
      I don't know you 
        
      
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