SurVision Magazine / Jake Sheff

A Duplex Only Turns 47 Twice

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.
—Ernest Hemingway

Yesterday, Tom passed the test and away.
He had a tin ear, calling snippets of

Scarlatti unfit for his interior.
His succedaneum for a unit of

Inner terror: "Dying six ways from Sunday,"
He'd say; happy poet, sad man. My biggest

Flex is knowing the back of his sappy hand.
"To Dr. John C. Otto c/o

Hemophilia & Co" he'd write to
Invoke the muse. In a diatribe, he'd claim

(With oakum in his voice) to be a tribe
Of one. A littérateur should make topsy-

Turvy every last alien autopsy.
Yesterday, Tom passed the test and away.

A Duplex Only Turns 49 Twice

It is quite gratifying to feel guilty if you haven't done anything wrong: how noble!
—Hannah Arendt, Eichmann in Jerusalem

Is money the fruit of labor or its ghost?
There's no more disdain for merit in my brain

Than there's rain in a camel's eye. With Tourette's,
Winter's no longer a one-note character.

Yacht chartering Bedouins, take note:
Every week's a vulture to an admiral

In the desert. O captain, eat this week
And be whole again! Hope needs more options like

Polypoid opinions need more hooligans.
Funny salesmen say, "What's most primitive must

Be kept most private." The furry salmon feel
Guilty; their mephitic nobility is

Every bit as gratified as meaning's is
When money pours them wine and makes a toast.

Jake Sheff is a pediatrician and US Air Force veteran currently residing in Portland, Oregon. He has published a full-length collection of formal poetry, A Kiss to Betray the Universe (White Violet Press), along with two chapbooks: Looting Versailles (Alabaster Leaves Publishing) and The Rites of Tires (SurVision). Another chapbook, The Seagull's First One Hundred Seguidillas, is forthcoming from Alien Buddha Press.

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An international online magazine that publishes Surrealist poetry in English. Issue Fifteen JAKE SHEFF A Duplex Only Turns 47 Twice There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed. —Ernest Hemingway Yesterday, Tom passed the test and away. He had a tin ear, calling snippets of Scarlatti unfit for his interior. His succedaneum for a unit of Inner terror: "Dying six ways from Sunday," He'd say; happy poet, sad man. My biggest Flex is knowing the back of his sappy hand. "To Dr. John C. Otto c/o Hemophilia & Co" he'd write to Invoke the muse. In a diatribe, he'd claim (With oakum in his voice) to be a tribe Of one. A littérateur should make topsy- Turvy every last alien autopsy. Yesterday, Tom passed the test and away. A Duplex Only Turns 49 Twice It is quite gratifying to feel guilty if you haven't done anything wrong: how noble! —Hannah Arendt, Eichmann in Jerusalem Is money the fruit of labor or its ghost? There's no more disdain for merit in my brain Than there's rain in a camel's eye. With Tourette's, Winter's no longer a one-note character. Yacht chartering Bedouins, take note: Every week's a vulture to an admiral In the desert. O captain, eat this week And be whole again! Hope needs more options like Polypoid opinions need more hooligans. Funny salesmen say, "What's most primitive must Be kept most private." The furry salmon feel Guilty; their mephitic nobility is Every bit as gratified as meaning's is When money pours them wine and makes a toast. Jake Sheff is a pediatrician and US Air Force veteran currently residing in Portland, Oregon. He has published a full-length collection of formal poetry, A Kiss to Betray the Universe (White Violet Press), along with two chapbooks: Looting Versailles (Alabaster Leaves Publishing) and The Rites of Tires (SurVision). Another chapbook, The Seagull's First One Hundred Seguidillas, is forthcoming from Alien Buddha Press.
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