Duane D. Daves is an experimental photographer and poet.








Untitled


My room was warm and moist,

like an oversized womb.

Even when winter screamed and cursed

Against the turquoise shutters

The heater purred softly,

Like a tensed bobcat

Poised above my throat



That day wasn't too special-

At least not until K. arrived.

He slithered across the floor,

Legs fluttering like windmills;

And crawled up my bare leg.

I grabbed the spray paint

And smiled.


























Untitled

This happens almost every day                                                                                                                           
Standing on the front steps of Ballentine Hall I said                                                                                                
Harold is like a food processor

Once while walking in Chicago on Lakeshore Drive                                                                                                      
I screamed at the top of my lungs                                                                                                                           
Idealists are like little pink crustaceans

Ripping at the fabric of a padded cell                                                                                                                             
I thought calmly to myself                                                                                                                                         
All the policemen are like hired assassins.
















Dead Snake Prose

I don't care what you think, I'm not crazy.

I mean you have a lot of room to talk, you

know, you're the one that eats mice. Yea I

know their just humoring me, and they think

I'm crazy too. Looking at me with their pat-

ronising smiles and stricking up stupid con-

versations about the weather. Huh? Yea right

maybe I should have killed the chicken and

plucked it before I tired to cook it, but

everyone makes mistakes. How was I supposed

to know the feathers would catch fire and

burn down the convalescent center. Huh.

of course I like old people - I'm getting

older every day. What! Why you little bastard,

who do you think you are accusing me of int-

entionally setting that fire. What did you say

my mother was!?!!! Why I'll blow your

brains out for that you little...




"Bloomington Police Station - Officer Dave

speaking." "Dave this is Lou Anne over at the

diner, crazy old Grundy just shot himself in

the leg while trying to shoot a snake and is

cussing up a storm. You know how it's bad for

business and all - having him around." Laughing

I thought to myself I wonder if the snake

provoked him!?!!





















So Young



The man stands

whips out his

.357 Mag.

Lays four rounds

into the jukebox

The Barry Manilow song

comes to a screeching end

Deep in his mind



Unchained wheels

strike pavement

5th gear, overdirve

"serenity" he thinks

"at 165 m.p.h."

He inhales

Sickly sweet smoke

Deep into his mind



So young

And so plastic

Remembering her, on her knees

wearing only garters & lace

Bitch

So young

And so deep in his mind.