Author Archives: Rumrazor

About Rumrazor

Just a malcontent surviving in Los Angeles, working the news, writing the poetry, making the films.

John Yamrus – “this chair”

Since 1970 John Yamrus has published 2 novels and 25 volumes of poetry. He has also had more than 1,800 poems published in print magazines around the world. His work is taught in a number of colleges and universities. this … Continue reading

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Push Mower

  I love being white. I love my whiteness. When I was younger, for a while, for a few years, all I did was mow our yard. We owned 5 acres. 5 acres which had to be mown. I mowed … Continue reading

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The Shirts You Wear

The body is not even cold and the opportunistic, profiteering vultures have swooped in to pick at his corpse. Almost as if this is their mentality: Bowie is dead so now how can I exploit this opportunity for my gain? … Continue reading

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Drama in the Parking Lots

Drama in the church parking lot, one man woke another sleeping in a car, and then they got into an argument. You’d think the man sleeping in the car would be a kid or a teenager but this was a … Continue reading

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Actuality Film: 9/11

ROTAS Tuesday, dark before dawn, September, Rachel left her essence on my bed. Shoes, my shoe size has not changed, St. Agnes. This morning I sat on the side of my bed scratching my Tycho Brahe nose, sniffling and shaking … Continue reading

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With Girlfriends Like These

Historically humans can be known by their latrines, traced by the detritus in their wake, Calomel at abandoned campsites, Dr. Rush’s little pills. Fish, eggs, garlic, the homeless in the dumpsters, about as obnoxious as Fordyce spots. Mithras wearing surgical … Continue reading

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The Body

The body has acquired an extended life, floating down the newly created Venetian canals of New Orleans, almost lazy in disposition, face up like a tourist, gaping at the beaded verandas and abandoned terraces of a moratorium Mardi Gras. The … Continue reading

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OLD PUNK ROCKERS NEVER DIE AND I WISH THEY WOULD

This evening I took the redline into DTLA at the invite of a friend. From the moment I walked in she was on her cell phone. Whatever. I don’t care. I’m tired at staring at my four walls so I … Continue reading

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Hello

Hello, another funeral, another trip home. When the clouds part and the plane dips north to south, like it always does, I see that shoreline creeping over to that crooked finger in the distance. I have to steel myself and … Continue reading

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Six Faces

I live in a miasma of ashes and the haze of Southern Comfort, speaking molasses, stuck in sorghum, and the only sweetness in this life was watching her smoke Newport Lights out of the hexahedron. The tiled table top holds … Continue reading

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