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The Garden

Duane Dell’Amico

A Writer Living
in Los Angeles



Duane Dell'Amico

writes screenplays, plays, short stories, poems, and essays





sandblack genie jukes the hardware in a pleasure forest

jams the transmission round the creamy crater

laughing lake and sun

we fast on spinach and forklift a pharmacy into our face

university brains all blue and gone for good in disbelief

we take the truck to the pleasure water

fill our wrinkles with water ablaze

pleasure in the mouth

corona on fire

corona on fire



this is a slice of life
of vicious eternities

this is claudia who plays an actress
I take pictures of her as if she were a beloved
it’s the first thing that comes to mind

she can’t imagine becoming ornamental
she can’t imagine becoming a prisoner of love
or a prisoner of good intentions
or a prisoner of any fucking kind

and I
such as I am
am like a softly bursting fruit
such a mess
such a surprise
and your watching eyes are like a forest hiding a secret

the lovers buy shares in housewares
they leave their bodies
happy couple
he moves her from the pedestal to the mantelpiece

it was a heavenly marriage


their hearts blurt the bullet’s dream
they lie on a couch
sewn up in sheets by the village elders
they lie very still and bake under a fire
and try to be warm and small and frozen in color

and this is the funeral parlour
the relationship is some days old here
here they are making love on a coffin
these shots should last forever

the lovers are impaled by feelings
she is perfect, very brave
like an ashtray
he crumples inside her


that equal the poetry of love
that grow profusely in the ordure of romance
roses that are drunk
are here in this room
they’re in the mail
on the way
here before noon
everything’s coming up roses
everything’s going my way

and while the dreams still fresh, I’ll eat your flesh


she didn’t like to eat in the evening
she didn’t like men at twilight
but the night was irresistible
so she stayed
a testament to the absolute clarity of our desires

and she continued to breathe as she continued to undress

he is momentarily shocked by something he sees her see
he wants her to take something
he luxuriates in shame in order to become more beautiful
he talks to himself
she watches him pay willingly for his vanity
he’s a bloody goldmine

she’s afraid
she’s bored
she puts her cigarette out on his arm repeatedly
he ignores her
she fucks him
she’s got an apartment
she reads the magazine
she pretends she’s so soft and ragged there’s no place to put a hook

he says
try tomorrow
I’ll be a shiny new groom

but the day comes when he smells his own ghost
he smothers his dark secret in a dark bush
and makes his getaway in a world that is broken and replaced

the maiden is no longer a maiden


The metal that I hate, blinds the flesh before it crushes it; but not so love, which slowly hitches on the death that prophecy precedes, then backs away, a cruel and murderous infant, leaving tiny twisted tensions that fight for words.

She looks deep in the ocean sun and swallows a tiny fist, and I emerge backwards from a fairy tale; and with tiny tinsel sorrow and tiny tinsel sympathy, I collect shiny things, for her skin, for when I see her next, to make amends.


Engines slowly grind the sun to dust.
We move like whales
Like butterflies
With prescient surprise.
That would be an acquisition:
A world that drips slowly.
It was a heavenly marriage




If I were colder then, if I were colder, if I were so much colder then, I think I would be happy now.

Snowflakes don’t think, they fall, their solitary theme just drifting. And if they thought, they’d only marvel at themselves:

my radiance, my symmetry,

I am so quiet, I am so gentle, I am so delicate…

Whose heart like all things cold is fire.

But what if they began to dream? To want what they could never be. What if they forgot themselves?

But they don’t lack and they don’t dream, and so the clouded heavens hurl them down to earth for daring even this, the tiniest perfection.

click below to read zalamea!

Photo Credits

Corona – Image by A Owen from Pixabay

Aurora Polar Lights – Image by Noel Bauza from Pixabay

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