The Sinus Infection

i’m always about dead with asthma

the Seoul smog is too much

Kick over a Motorbike

in Protest

like an anesthetized patient
i cover my mouth
while he vacuums my sinuses.
if i look at the cold steel device
like an elongated nasal butt plug
it makes me convulse. 


i look and i cough
right on the doctor
the mask was hanging to the side of his mouth

he puts it on.

The Sickle of a P

The Persistence of Dali by JM Reinbold from Dali Krab Day

The Sickle of a P
poem by Ralph-Michael Chiaia


did you see the krab aid lady, Nanook?
Nanook stared with a question mark for a face
his face was gone, except for two equally parabolic moustaches
each slight apart from the other
do you know Hitler’s moustache, Mr. Nanook?
you mean that imbecile’s patch of hair
yes, that imbecile’s patch
that’s exactly what you don’t have
you have have the handlebars of genius on your face
but your face is gone
my face is what? his voice was emanating as if there were speakers
because his mouth was gone
El Salvador Dali was standing in the background
in front of the tsunami, Mr. Stubborn The Whole World Must Surf
Building Cities Oil Tankers Robins
holding a Tiger Lily the flower that Quetzalcoatl brought to Ixim Ulew
from the center of the universe, the Orion’s Belt, the Three Hearthstones
the Crab the Crab the Crab Nebula
Flaming Time Nebula
Horsehead Nebula
Alnitak, Alnilam, and Mintaka the persistence of memory
imagine time is a reader
this Dali Krab Day is the sickle of a p, not the spike
just the curved sickle of a capital p: P
in a poem, in a book, in a volume, on a shelf
in a room, on a floor, up an elevator, in a building
on a street, in a city, of a country, of continent
of a planet, in a system, in a universe
moving towards another like a great big muffin top
while in the sack of crabs
slung around Dali’s back
his eyes not tracking right, tracking better than right
super-right
he makes eye contact with Nanook, and the questionmark face
becomes an exclamation mark!