| boni joi beejoi@hotmail.com boni joi is a sinuously shaped sensation siren. Long-legged, applebreasted with a delicious little paunch. She is simply seductive whenswathed in a hint of guaze, a jeweled necklace, fancy hat or with a smallleather-bound book in hand. boni's first reading was held in the bathrrom of a bar called theMelody in New Brunswick, N.J. where she was overheard from the adjacentstall by the curator of the Proletkult Poetry Circus. After being featuredat Proletkult, boni installed a co-ed bathroom reading at the Melody incoordination with a dance party called Bang. She went on to perform atvarious venues in New Jersey such as the Trenton Avant Guarde Festival,Barron Arts Center, Watchung Arts Center, La Di Da in Montclair, ThePatterson Museum, and Cafe Improv in Princeton. Last fall boni was featuredon a compliation C.D. called the Sheee Collective along with a plethera ofN.J. poets and musicians including Alice B. Talkless, Catherine Moon, andPamala Novick. boni joi has perfromed at many places in N.Y. such as Gecko's Night ofthe Living Divas and Spart at The Collective Unconcious, JenniferBlowdryer's Smutfest at Mother, the Mad Alex Reading Series, The TelephoneBar, and Wordsmiths at Halcyon. boni joi has an M.F.A. in poetry fromColumbia University. She has been published in Arabella, Long Shot, Driver's Side Air Bag, N.J.Bowel & Blatter Control and Big Hammer. She has a chapbook with IniquityPress/Vendetta Books and was one of four poets in a book by Ocular Press.She has self-published the Matchbook poems, a series of succint poemsprinted on matchbooks. PACK RAT'S LOVE POEM I will break all of the dishes and glasses so there will be only two of each. All arbitrary beach photos, early writings on brown paper bags, and red eyed doll heads will be thrown away. Any postcards of old gas stations, in the garbage. We will only have the us that is now and a few pieces of blue sea glass and rusty metal. SOLOMON IN HIS NIGHTLY BATH It couldn't have been more anything; the sight of him bathing in a tub full of darkish water. Mildew creeping up the tiles, around the faucet and hot and cold water handles. No wonder he's so thin. How could he consume in there, hair slicked back and soapy a dirty wooden breakfast-in-bed tray (this being dinner-in-tub) watery spaghetti sauce, floppy pasta and half imbibed milk, not even looking at his dish. Get two things done at once, its economical, it's like masturbating while eating a sandwich Mr. Bubbles' smile is cut off by the frame. Maybe there is something he's washing deep in the gut that makes the breath come out. SHE’S OFF Running again, naked, as fast as her two hundred or so five foot four frame can go, into the graveyard but the gate is locked. I try to persuade her to go back inside as her body begins to stiffen and fall backward she pushes against me and leans with all her pain like a game of trust, if I don't hold her up she'll fall into the gravel. But I'm fifteen and strong and I hold her as long as I can and she leans and pushes, she's bare and weightless and will not talk, she's somewhere I can't go, will never be there with her, don't want to she's out of it, knows she's too far gone and I can't help her. She leans until she feels my body start to give then purses her lips together like something is being torn from her and looks up into the gray sky with clouded eyes her whole body goes limp and she slides down mine to the ground. I try now to lift her up as her eyes roll back into her head, she's not on drugs, she's off of them and high because of her leveled out feeling while she's on them and I start to cry because I feel helpless and I can't lift her. She opens her eyes and looks at me, first a concerned look and then she smiles and slowly gets up and then she's off again. TURKISH BEAUTY AT STINGY LULU'S Close-mouthed and East Village skinny and spine slouched over while squirting fountain drinks into medium sized brunch glasses. Blue Adidas t-shirt with sleeves ripped off and mid length denim skirt with pink lace underwear bunched out over the waistline as if to insinuate a carefree attitude of dress that specifies the showing of undergarments. White leather slim spiked and doubled belt lies right below this riot of denim and lace to finish off the look. Bleached hair, eyes droop looking out into nowhere. She's only about twenty-three and this landscape that she appears in, behind the bar and the way her spine curves downward followed by thin arms and lackluster smile makes her appear so decayed. No view of her shoes. AN EVAPORATION ALLAYS A THIRST There wasn't a single receptacle in the house but somehow it had grown wings on the inside a wish with no practical use they were beautiful for such an anomaly white so sometimes blending into white walls other times being slightly present during dinner parties guests would occasionally find a feather in champagne not one was disgusted, a popular meeting place cocktails with feathers a timely trend these fluffies did not require oxygen, not the way furs do they used wind like typical ones, transportation to the table decisions where made, things happened, there were changes one day nothing happened, and nothing after that the feathers folded in on themselves like dead plants dehydrated from lack of alcohol. |