Tag Archives: Nicholaus Patnaude

“Spoiled Promises in the Fridge”

2 Jan

“Spoiled Promises in the Fridge”

When nobody wrote.

“Give me a Sasquatch.”

My drool evades the bar,

a fiery drool

serpentine patterns.

I ask a disease to dance,

but she disappears in the jukebox.

My juicebox takes hold, full,

and delivers me to another planet

before my crime is discovered.

Let me borrow yours anymore,

my sister of the diving dolphins

calls to me anymore on rose bones

to pretend you have no one

to be someone new in an old town

we’re so sorry to inform you

forgiveness in shallow graves

turn around come alive,

to the stitching of guns

wash whistle wolf restraint

cough up the cuff links, spark your pants

the man from powder blue lives in your house

took over your old life now

spent the night coloring a new rash

the color of wounded starfish

however much I love you

while cutting holes through the dishes

the color of cornfield rain

mistletoes the color of buttercups

tumbling through the barley with you

the horse neighs, the collector calls:

you wore his ruby red slippers

to the masquerade ball

and all you did was dance

with a fortune teller’s crystal balls.

Haven’t you any pity?

Here’s a regret to call you late at night:

you: a half-chain of rattlesnake belt

rotten you purr, rototiller

to live scarecrow

the car that drove itself

down the wrong highway.

“Cassette Tape”

1 Jan

“Cassette Tape”

A rumor:

you, unzipped,

complete in scissor exorcism

a flash to the past:

all the songs: blurred rain, burning berries,

blood on blacktop.

The cassette tape uncoils,

splashing jangly guitars onto the roofs

your mouths house carnivals

and jingly carousels.

The shadows of the torture devices smile.

Recording in driplets,

the mutant bones

play the session back

the black coffee in the studio

tracks the monster

flashes in the tape spools

phantom gramophone

follows

head of opossum

liver of lynx:

the horseman waits

at the bottom

of your triplicate stomach.

“Dancing with an Empty Dress”

31 Dec

“Dancing with an Empty Dress”

I tripped on the badminton net,

tripped the dark,

stripped the bark,

all while an inside-out walking accident.

The cold howls

that we live.

“Two Blushes”

30 Dec

“Two Blushes”

Let’s watch the leaves freeze

from a swing on the porch.

When the chips fall down,

pray for confetti,

the long rope,

the witch’s twitching toes.

Have you forgotten how to inhabit a torso?

Forgive a million candelabras

forgive me this recipe

of dressing gowns, blue thorns.

There’s poison in the mattress

your negligee

caused a sparrow to crack asunder.

Will this blood leave behind its shadow?

Will you fall in love with me next door?

A dying demon falls forever

through outer space

past the hidden planets.

for Doris Russell

23 Dec

for Doris Russell (“Nammie”) 8/31/26-12/22/2017

A brook filled with minnows behind your red house, sings to the stars

we set up tents for

after a family reunion day of playing Bocce.

A bird feeder by your breakfast table,

melts blue jays into blueberries

tomato soup and bandaids

pianos and your beautiful handwriting.

Holographic stamps of toucans and charging antelopes send butterflies

soaking in a bowl of envelopes.

We waited for you while canoeing in the lake at Camp Seely,

telling the story of The Monkey’s Paw

around a campfire with s’mores.

And there is still a boardwalk.

Will you hold my hand?

Teach me to tie my shoe again?

It’s time to ride horses

through the hayloft at dusk.

There are still duckpins to shatter.

There is unknown whispering wisdom.

I’m a living Interview fossil on podcast Losing the Plot

6 Aug

We’d hoped to rope you in with that line, but the rope bites are sending our cute wounds down snake holes to have pie with the parakeets. Wanna scoop? 

Listen here. 

10 rules all writers MUST follow

28 Jul

10 Rules All Writers MUST Follow:
1. Ya gotta be spitting blood at the keyboard, mate. Bust an artery. Inspire a nosebleed. Whatever ya gotta do, your typewriter had better be covered in blood or you’re doing something WRONG. At the very least, douse your keyboard in Spaghetti O’s to keep up appearances. 

2. Ya gotta kiss up to more successful writers, mate–and by kiss, we definitely mean [NSFW comment removed by administration]. 

3. Ya gotta give birth to a Kindle on Saturn and then chase around your tail until you get so dizzy ya puke. That’s just a necessity mate!

4. Ya gotta get the deceased to buy your books, mate. What? Does that seem too difficult for you? THEN GET OUTTA THE GAME, MATE! Boink, you lose! 

5. I know this one’s gonna sting, but, yeah, ya gotta post pictures of your muscles covered in blood. WHAT? DON’T TELL ME YOU’RE OPPOSED THAT, MATE!

6. Um, I seem to be running out of steam here mate but GUESS WHO JUST SPRAYED BLOOD ALL OVER HIS KEYBOARD, MATE?! 

7. Yeah, uh, so that’s all I got really.

8. Look, I meant this to be inspirational to the young folks out there. It’s just that ya gotta bleed is all.

9. Phew. Almost there. Yeah, uh, I’m gonna be honest at this point. I got nothing left. 

10. Ya! I made it! And ya gotta too. 

The Snake Handler by J David Osborne & Cody Goodfellow (Broken River Books; 2017) 

25 Jul


Dedicated to the great Harry Crews, this is a fast, fun, rude novella that drips with seedy Southern darkness. My favorite scene involves a hallucinogenic conversation with a snake. Fans of offbeat, cartoonish, gory action sequences will find plenty to like here, yet the characters lack the depth and pathos of Harry Crews or Flannary O’Connor’s brethren. Having read some of Goodfellow’s and Osborne’s other work, I tried to spot each author’s separate stylistic contributions and feel I mostly failed in that endeavor; however, there were a few moments of grisly, uncomfortable poetic realism that I swore were Osborne’s, a unique voice and flavor second to none.  

You can only order it here

Made for Love by Alissa Nutting (Ecco; 2017) 

24 Jul

A man with Jesus hair is attracted to a dolphin.

A woman with a computer chip in her brain gets her arm stuck down the throat of a love doll.

Yet how could their fates possibly collide? 

In the ultimate beach read of the summer, you will soon find out. If Tampa was Lolita’s summer crush then Made for Love is A Confederacy of Dunces’ energetic android grandmother.

I was an interview specimen at Bizzong! 

18 Jul

A dialogue can cast fires, obliterate diamonds, wet the teeth of cougars, fly off the handlebars of a bicycle made of mustache hair, melt golden gymnast rings, mambo snake tattoos into hissing phantoms, and, ultimately, offer solace to the spiders trapped in lynx eyes. And so I present to you a dialogue with Frank Edler and me on Bizzong!

Check it out here!