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Poetry for the Neon Apocalypse is available in paperback, and for Kindle.

“I think Jake Tringali wants to scare me a little.  Within the first ten pages of Poetry for the Neon Apocalypse there are three different sorts of black magic, and the universe as we know it peters out twice—it only gets stranger from there”
– Miles White, Euphony Journal

“Dark and futuristic, Jake Tringali’s debut is a cosmic collection that is both out of this world and soberingly urban in equal measure.”
– Sam Rose, editor of Peeking Cat Poetry Magazine

“Jake’s first book…is equal parts punk, prophecy, and poetry…A book for your inner anarchist.  I love this book.” – Jason Wright, editor of Oddball Magazine

inside a salem parlor

you will not fuck with the goddess
goddamn hoodie-wearin’ child, and her friends, my red runes
of slaughter’ll spill over your broken rabbit’s foot. no,
you can’t get a neck tattoo, princess, and there is no such
thing as the modern vampire

precious, just shop, and applaud yourself in my parlor, buy
that bundle of wildwood sage, to bring home and burn next to your picket
fence, skyscraper condo, euro cottage, subzero fridge,
whatever, i’ve got work to do

my practiced skills linger, occult and otherwise, you continue
to cackle as your manicures dare to touch my grimoire, my
folio, the scented candles that we really made in the summer backyard, as the
ladies laughed darkly

tell your cheering nuggets to sit the fuck down, follow yo momma’s
tramp stamp and exit, take your mall dye kit wit’cha, back
on the bus, fuckin’ tourist, light up that clove ciggie,
whatever, I’ve got lots of work to do

we’re heading toward a future of dildos

let’s take the humanity out of being human
sterilize us meatbags filled with muckwater and noxious gases
acid and bile, and bloody vessels
limbs pocked with marks and divets and crinkles
cleanse and purify this crude matter, warts and all
vile protoplasm no more

the trans-human world awaits us all
cleanroom peripherals from gadgeted laboratories
from the peg leg to off-the-shelf titanium-molded ultra-limbs
quartz-lensed spectacles to photorefractive ocular surgery
biohacking eye drops that gift us with night vision
new gods running a three-minute midnight mile

no sweat – the eccrine glands are now as controlled as a dimmer switch

short-circuit evolution and bring the carnal arts to your home
under the belt, select your size, and color, and firmness
all myoelectrically controlled, of course, from that filthy wet brain
just socket it in
the rocket pocket age is upon us

upgrade that wetware, and visit a human architect today
move beyond the flesh, life after nature
complain no more of disease’s extensive power
modify your technoself and augment your future

master your personal evolution

Author’s Note: First published by Kool Kids Press in June 2015.

“N.N.Y.”

cue up the twinkling xylophonic soundtrack
chip in pulsing magneto-bass, as five p.m. hits wall street
the manhattan market closes systematically
pneumatic robots sputter and shimmy down
but see their human masters jazz about

racing debonair bachelors wearing the newest zoots
hit the ultra-lounges, fizzy with martinis
boozy swizzle sticks with designer drugs
electro-bongo pulses now tuned to
the gestures of wild theremin antennae
space age guitars in velvet swivel to and fro

the hip masters of their destiny dwelling on
tomorrow’s journeys to vegas, bali, acapulco
and further off-earth adventures to the
zero-grav singles-only oort resort
and coming soon, the lavish hilton luna
they dream of flesh fantasies in clockwork cities
a mech-island paradise for homo retro futurus

 

Author’s Notes: First published in Star*Line Magazine in July 2016.  “Guitar in Velvet” is a George Baines space-age-jazz-pop album from 1957.  Part of The Shredders’s Compendium of Poetry, a series of poems inspired by instrumental tracks from famous guitarists.  The title is a song track by Vinnie Moore.

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