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Poetry for the Neon Apocalypse is available on Amazon. 

“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

(The following poem was on display at Boston City Hall.)

inside a salem parlor

you will not fool with the goddess.  not in my house.

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, my
home, buy that bundle of wildwood sage, to bring home and
burn next to your picket fence, skyscraper condo
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 down, follow yo momma’s
tramp stamp and exit, take your mall dye kit wit’cha, back
on the bus, damn tourist, light up that clove ciggie,
whatever, I’ve got lots of work to do

—First published in Coe Review

invisible ink
it is not widely known but
god has a tattoo

she got it when she was a young anarchist
and bored of the endless

the tattoo started as one elegant equation
that transformed into a candle,
bloomed into a colorful zoo of particles,
and coalesced into droplets of universes

once the tattoo was finished,
it was unchangeable

inevitably, it faded
god’s interests went elsewhere

—First published in Poetry Pacific Press

the pleasures of smashing snowglobes

take a snowglobe, take pleasure in polishing the curved glass
place a small father, small mother, small daughter in it
make it large enough to traverse in five stanzas                                 

give the father: a beer-barrel stomach, middle-age indigestion
give the mother: cancer, self-image issues
give the daughter: the mother, and nothing else

drop in some furniture
rummage through it for significant items
so: a broken mirror, a stashed love letter, a hidden key, etc.
give it a lived-in look

hold a gun over the snowglobe
threaten to annihilate it

annihilate it and my hand is bleeding from glass