Warhol and Factory Inspired Series: Factory Made by Jonathan S Baker

Factory Made

No one made Andy.

The kids made dreams,

and Andy threaded labels

each as beautiful and cool

as Hollywood cigarettes

with image and style.

The label said Warhol.

The kids saw

that Andy was a vampire

and loved him for it.

Bio: Jonathan S Baker lives and writes at his home in Evansville Indiana with his two companions, a dog and anxiety. They are the author of Head Work, It's Always Been Like This, Roadside Attractions, and co-author of Fearful Architecture.  Their new release is Cock of the Walk, a collections of poems about penises and sexuality.

Poetry by David L O’Nan : The Pheromone Room

Photo by Mikhail Elfimov (unsplash)

The Pheromone Room

There were many men with ponytails and
Tank-tops at her funeral
Some of them with
Cocaine fingernails

She lived in and out of the Pheromone rooms
All of the gigolos
And all of the beer-bellies
Mustachioed lotharios
And trashy wholesale doctors

They wanted her smile
To be only for them
But she was his
And they also, were not alone
Afraid to be alone back home with the stranger
And her cemetery complexions

All were wild and bouncy
And in shame
Once the buzz wears thin
But she made them forget the digging graves
With her fancy hellos
While they were just a wrong decision
Away from jail-bars
She could always go home

But once home was their loneliness
Maybe, he and his goat beard
Made her hide inside
Reading to herself, crying
While he is out with the girls on the boat

He wasn’t there once she got sick
He was under the roofs of neon lights
And dancing faeries
Dollars falling from the holes in his pants pockets

And then she was gone
Hung down like a prized ornament
Blame that on the moon,
Maybe blame it on the town
Maybe blame it on some twisted shit
In the veins of motion
Circling around the pheromone room.

Poem by David L O’Nan : Psalm 46 Haze

Poem by David L O’Nan : “Clearly!” (2005) (Poetry, writings)

Poem: Escaping the Bonfire in the Woods by David L O’Nan

photo by Rafael Feroli (unsplash)

To the blind we must feel so wild
Running through the fires for the thrill,
We must be so nauseating
We’ve built cradles and thrones
With all the muscles melting,
and all those broken bones.
The fading spirits escape the night
The bonfires charring the riverbanks
Leaving the grass to be tart and ash.

The thundering in distances,
Are not for our freedom
It is more of a call,
to the death of it.
We can only hunt for the hearts for so long.
The hearts are the monsters.
And defiant to love,
And the blood swims in jealousies

To be blessed by adventure,
To be cursed by the threatening
And we are talking about all the beauties.
The supreme and goodbyes in the rain
Erect lightning rips apart our skeletons
When the fires became a broiler
Within,
our motion is muted
Vision now evades us.

Poetry: A Divorce in the Gut of the Sun by David L O’Nan

The Bible Belt Bachelor Beat, The Prison Speech (2005) Poetry by David L O’Nan

Poems by David L O’Nan “Wild Hearts” “Taking Pictures in Dark Laundromats” “Miracle White” “A Centipede in a Blizzard” & “The War is Like Honey in Holiday Lights”

Wolfpack Contributor EIC Bios: David L O’Nan & HilLesha O’Nan

Poetry: A Divorce in the Gut of the Sun by David L O’Nan

Photo by Zane Lee (unsplash)

A Divorce in the Gut of the Sun

We used to be drawings of lipstick clouds
And Strawberry hearts
We lived in our diaries
We loved, we bled
Atrophied the stems from the flowers
What memories are left?
Imprinted in my scars
Come read them like a palm reader
Do you see the many awakenings?
Blurred out the moon in this desert heat I’m absorbing
Thru this skin, these bones
I’m still to you, no words for you
We’ve said all that we don’t mean
But now it is enough
Your masculinity is waning
Your bravado is short circuiting
You’ll bring your sour breath to the bar
Bite the lips of a midnight sundress and her vodka strut
While I’m in frozen depression
Children away with my mother
As I burn all our old letters
And I burn all of my wardrobe
The clothes I wore during my “trying to impress” years
I just want to swim in these fires across the floor
Shall the universe eat my soul right now, I’d be fine
Eat away the old regimes of barrels, bourbon, and brutes
Now in a shell I am
A dark closet that my soul is weeping behind
I stare into my imagined reflection and my feet become warm by the heat of my tears
Falling and puddling til my badly polished toenails just stand inside
And I don’t care
I am in fear still though,
You’re no longer here
You have the dessert and no entrée
I see all the medications that I’ve been given
Even more recently than before
More medication, less feeling
But no motivation,
and I know you are more worried about getting a fresh cup of coffee
And I’m going to have to settle on the old black & white photos of our marriage
Light that shit to flames
I have to be pushed into my old body, and cradle my mind, and hold me
Til I can shake away the disease of you


Short Story/poem The Ballad of Clay Huntley by David L O’Nan (from the Profiles of Ego Series)

Links to 6 poems of mine (David L O’Nan) on Lothlorien Poetry Journal

Short Story/poem The Ballad of Clay Huntley by David L O’Nan (from the Profiles of Ego Series)

The Ballad of Clay Huntley (Profiles of ego series)

The Ballad of Clay Huntley

In the smoky Ale House
Let’s call it Murfreesboro
He’s got the swaying hips of a murder machine
Slick backed hair,
a sex appeal predator
Collecting numbers,
spreading diseases,
I’ve known him to be a birdwatcher,
a greaser witch
Stepping up to women like a movie star
In a masochistic leather jacket
He runs up mountains without the fear of the plunge
A wind-up talking crash of dark caramel ale breath –
to a lost soft cheek
You become his stage
For all his radical jokes
Unnerving smiles
You become his surgery,
For all of his dissecting thought
Or so he thinks

A point from going macho to a drunk
Then he’s your neighborhood brute
A traveling circus riot
Wants you to become his scream queen victim
As he challenges all –
to watch his demise to –
being a bar wrestler,
A real Vaudeville bullfrog
And he wants you to be his dancing daisy
While impersonates a Rudolph Valentino
Now he knows to mimic an operatic wind
A gust of bravado to a riverfront
Stuck in a canvas frame,
from the beating heart of Ambroise Vollard
But soon his oil stick is broken in the engine
And the hood is falling off

From the Ale then the pills
Now he’s turning to the surgeon for good
Baiting you to a show, a one-man cult display
Like swarming buffalo gnats –
to a jar of Wild Maine Blueberry Jam

Clay Huntley,
a vivid swerving waterfall
While under his spell,
a master weaver
An electrician pulling all the wires of our bombs together.

In 5 years
He doesn’t breathe free
When lungs are wooden,
Set afire from all the tobacco digesting tumors
– in the Superior Lobe
Guillotining away at the Pleura,
becomes like Mayonnaise
A sick interception from ego back to man
Now as death awaits
Imagination and nature became the object
– of his lamenting eyes
He likes to stray the fields,
giving each bird a personality
Funny, how he never saw that in the women
on his pinup calendars
Time is a fickle demon
So, can we pray in the arms of what is timeless?

Honey-Texas by David L O’Nan (short story/poetry)

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with EIC of Fevers of the Mind David L O’Nan

Poems by David L O’Nan “Wild Hearts” “Taking Pictures in Dark Laundromats” “Miracle White” “A Centipede in a Blizzard” & “The War is Like Honey in Holiday Lights”
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