Advice To An Elitist Editor - Doug Draime

Drink 2

full glasses

of mescal

(real fast)

and grind

up a worm

into a couple

shakes

of salt

eat it and swallow

it down

with slice of lime

and a 3rd full  glass

of mescal

then  go

read some

of Hemingway’s 

poems,

as you

stick all those 

“un-poetic

inconsistencies”

up your ignorant

academic

ass.

Doug Draime's most recent book is More Than The Alley, a full-length collection

from Interior Noise Press. Also available are two chaps: Los Angeles Terminal:

Poems 1971-1980 (Covert Press) and Rock 'n Roll Jizz (Propaganda Press).

Draime has been a presence in the literary 'underground' movement since the

late 1960's. He currently lives in the foothills of Oregon.

Over The Mountains There Is An Ocean - doug draime

Cops to the left

of me

cops to the right

and here I am stuck

in the middle with my

stoned self

and my .... almost 

stoned wife.

We’re headed to a motel

on the

beach,

with an 1/8 oz. of dynamite

weed

2 open bottles of beer

1 open bottle of whiskey

a loaded

unregistered

38

and a roach

burning in

the clip.

My wife is  driving, she’s my Bonnie.

I’m way way more fucked up than

Clyde

She’s as calm as

a cool summer night,

with an open bottle

of beer

between her legs,

she turns down the blasting 

Lou Reed CD,

checks the rear view mirror

and takes

another 

hit.

Doug Draime's most recent book is More Than The Alley, a full-length collection

from Interior Noise Press. Also available are two chaps: Los Angeles Terminal:

Poems 1971-1980 (Covert Press) and Rock 'n Roll Jizz (Propaganda Press).

Draime has been a presence in the literary 'underground' movement since the

late 1960's. He currently lives in the foothills of Oregon.

tin cans - doug draime

In Memory Of Ray Charles


I was 15 or 16
when you were helped
from the stage in
Indianapolis, mumbling
incoherently and later
arrested for “narcotics possession”,
partying at the Claypool Hotel.
On that night I was only a 100 miles away
in Vincennes,
playing “What’d I Say” at full volume
on my 45 RPM,
using 2 large empty potato chip cans
as conga drums.
Dazed, and a little messed up
from some Thunderbird wine I had
smuggled up to my room.
And more than a little bummed-out.
over having missed seeing you.
Half way through the song, my grandfather
flung the door open,
yelling at me to turn that nigger shit down.
The next day after I heard about your bust,
I came home from school
got out my cans and played you again,
at full volume, finishing off the wine.
No one was home and I played that song
at least 15 times.
That afternoon changed me forever, man.
But the wine, with just a little food on my stomach,
made me sleepy and I took a long nap.
I had a dream I’d made it to your concert,
that you played your full set fully conscious,
with 3 encores, and you were not arrested afterwards -
perish the thought.
And the next morning you were given the key to the city
and a lavish gala dinner
put on by the Indiana chapter of the KKK,
bowing and scrapping at your feet.




Doug Draime's most recent book is More Than The Alley, a full-length collection
from Interior Noise Press. Also available are two chaps: Los Angeles Terminal:
Poems 1971-1980 (Covert Press) and Rock 'n Roll Jizz (Propaganda Press).
Draime has been a presence in the literary 'underground' movement since the
late 1960's. He currently lives in the foothills of Oregon.

corporate mentality - doug draime

Once the Masters

of the Seas,

porting only

for supplies

and a few

days of 

debauchery

on the coast,

where the

dark brown nippled girls

bathed in

the sun.

We know the

story: disease

spread

throughout the

villages with

mind altering

syphilis; first

creeping, then

rapid

insanity.

Doug Draime's most recent book is More Than The Alley, a full-length collection

from Interior Noise Press. Also available are two chaps: Los Angeles Terminal:

Poems 1971-1980 (Covert Press) and Rock 'n Roll Jizz (Propaganda Press).

Draime has been a presence in the literary 'underground' movement since the

late 1960's. He currently lives in the foothills of Oregon.

the true story of noah - doug draime

Several thousand years after the flood,

Noah parked the ark in the New York

harbor, got off to get a chili dog

at Nathan's

on Coney Island, took a cruise on the

Staten Island Ferry, and won 40 thousand

dollars in Atlantic City at the crap table. His wife. his sons, and

his son’s wives were all still dead asleep

on the ark. Noah had drugged them with massive doses of 

Pamelor, Vicodin, and Effexor, so he could

get a little R&R, alone, without the

demands of domesticity. Everything was 

beginning to annoy and outrage him on the ark. The daily

rut of keeping all the animals fed

and clean, and all the shit mopped up

was a 24/7 job in itself; they had to do it in

in 8 hour shifts. The constant bickering between the women

was becoming unbearable. And, for the last

couple hundred years, his sons had developed

the bizarre habit of walking in on Noah and his wife, Mrs. Noah, when 

they were drunk and fucking, which had caused

his wife not to get drunk, and fuck 

him, she just shut him off. Noah stayed away

from the ark for several weeks, going from

party to party at nights,

and playing the stock market during the days.  He came back

to the ark a rich and satisfied man, only to be

appalled by the fact that no one had made the slightest  effort to clean

up the animal shit. He knew what had to be done, and

threw himself right into it. When he was finished, there

was not a hint, a spot,  a trace,  or a whisper of

creature doo-doo. One clean ark, he determined! Then he drugged

them all again, fucked his sleeping wife, rented a car and drove to 

Hollywood, where 

he is to this day contemplating that voice that

was booming from the sky thousands of years ago.

Doug Draime's most recent book is More Than The Alley, a full-length collection

from Interior Noise Press. Also available are two chaps: Los Angeles Terminal:

Poems 1971-1980 (Covert Press) and Rock 'n Roll Jizz (Propaganda Press).

Draime has been a presence in the literary 'underground' movement since the

late 1960's. He currently lives in the foothills of Oregon.