Drupe Fruits and Humble Humdrum Cotton Frock

Hey homies,

let it be known that Edwin R. Perry, poet and recent Milwaukee transplant (from Chicago…coming to the dark side), has been kicking up some pretty rawkus dust in his own low-key, old skool way.

He edits for two print journals: Drupe Fruits and Humble Humdrum Cotton Frock (a title I very much dig).  Humdrum published a poem of mine earlier this year which I have included below.  Drupe Fruits just put out its first issue and a poem from my Starfucker series is in it.  Edwin, pictured here, is the lucky gentlemen with the ice cream cone.

I just want to highlight these journals and Edwin because–being old skool and all–neither of the journals have too much of a web presence.  Things can fall through the cracks pretty easily without a webpage, now, so I wanted to at least give them a mention.  Humdrum, I know, has a facebook page, which is here. And I mention all of this now because, as you’ll see on the facebook page, Humdrum just put out a call for submissions, which will be considered for their third issue.

OK.  So submit stuff to them.  Then, eat a disc of chihuahua cheese and barf.

Here’s the poem Humdrum published earlier this year, minus some formatting peculiarities that I don’t know how to fix on this blog.  Of course, it’s a love poem, for my gangsta love, Angela.  Enjoy.

POP SONNET
for Ange

And what do you think about this piece? I try not to think about art.
What’s interesting
you most about this piece? The shadow I’m casting
Upon it. Damn: it feels good to be a gangster. It’s snowing manna.
It is raining men. Ha

Llelujah. A young person is smearing their privates
With a condiment and will shortly invite their pets
To remove it. My grandpa’s name is grandpa. My life is ruined,
As are these shoes. What did you like most about the poem?

It was short. You’re my favorite work of art, cause every
Nobody gets you. Today was a good day.
My muse gushes deafening orchestra that shreds into fleshy
Confetti. This poem is boring, and she’s not okay

With that. In the midnight hour. I can fee
L your power. Down on my kneeeeees.

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