Bio: Catfish McDaris has been published widely. In the Louisiana Review, George Mason Univ.Press, and New Coin from Rhodes Univ. in South Africa. His work has recently been translated into Spanish, Italian, French, Polish, Swedish, Arabic, Mandarin, Yoruba, Bengali, Tagalog, and Esperanto. His 30 years of published material is in the Special Archives Collection at Marquette Univ. in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
Wild Horses Dancing
My woman is a mountain asleep
lying on the mirage horizon, she is
under my skin like a vitamin, a cold
tall can of Coors sweating between
My legs, that ignorant oil does not love
me, nothing is jake, makes me steal
dance smoke funkified loco weed
living in shadows, chasing clouds
Bison, coyotes, jackalope, long horns
stampeding across the chaparral, red-
tailed hawks, roadrunners eating rattlers
eagles with Gila monsters in their talons.
***
Thoughts For Prince Corso
Known as the fourth musketeer of
the Beatnik Kings, D’Artagnan to
Ginsberg, Kerouac, and Burroughs
Did a deuce for stealing a dress, put
in Clinton, the poets’ prison of Dannemora
self-taught word man, one of the best, saw
Ginsberg at the Pony Stable headed west
Met the West Coast Beats and saw Henry
Miller, read in the nude in Los Angeles
blowing away avant-garde minds
Just a Minnesota lad like Dylan and Prince
wrote “Gasoline” “The Happy Birthday
of Death” later taught poetry in Greece
Married Sally November and twice more,
finally, substance abuse beat him down
Mr. Corso was free like the wind, love
hate happiness nothing else to live for.
***
Mephisto Fandango
The dawn sunlight danced through
the prickly pear spines creating
shadows and rainbows on Ramona’s
sleeping face, she had suggested we
Use the cacti to protect us from night
creatures, I got up quietly and built a
mesquite fire, we had trout we’d caught
I rolled them in corn meal, salt, and chili
I could see Ramona’s nostrils dilated and
a smile was splitting her face, I asked her if
she had any dreams, she said no, I told her
about mine, while in the army we played
Poker in big tents, there were big snow
storms where I was stationed, the same
place as Elvis Presley, she took over the
cooking, knowing that sometimes my dreams
Were long winded, I told her we ran out of
beer, so we sent Fatty to buy a case or two,
he got his name from being a fat boy, we
waited and waited, finally we all went looking
For him, there he was lying in the road, with
beer cans everywhere, he was moaning and
groaning, there was a tire track across his fat
belly, we all gathered the beer, but Fatty died
“That was damn near your longest and most
boring dream story ever,” I put on some White
Stripes Seven Nation Army and Jolene, we had
fish, danced our asses off, and smoked a phatty.
***
Right on, Catfish!
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