Joe Sonnenblick

Joe Sonnenblick has been featured in such publications as “The reject” and “Citizen Brooklyn”. Joe is pleased to have been selected by “The Flea Bitten Dog” for their 7th issue which was published in September 2020, and published through “In Parentheses” for their 6th volume of poetry which was released in October 2020.  Joe has been a featured reader up and down the east coast and at The Poets House in NYC.

With Spite I Can Achieve All

  It’s probably a question you need to ask yourself,
 It will consume you and most assuredly weight heavy on your crown-less noggin
 There will be drumrolls,
 There will be pomp and circumstance
 You might even have to console yourself…
 How the fuck are these people who are much less talented than I…
 How are they so far ahead of me?
 Now, answer that question and sleep peacefully,
 Or live with it
 If that’s any type of living at all. 

The Devil Is Singing At The Bodega Tonight

 Half of my bathroom light is out
 Is it electrical or emotional?
 My hallowed ground,
 My thinking lab is almost a ghost tunnel
 Coldest air, flowing dresses.
 They are all here to watch me shit,
 New ideas sans. That luminosity, furiousness, left blithely smirking
 You will not defeat yourself,
 Yourself, defeated, wiping.
 What was that thing I said?
 Damn, what was that thing I was supposed to do?
 Distracted again by technology
 A violent prism,
 There is no more light in that bathroom,
 There is my newly cold grandmother reading The Haggadah.
 It’s August,
 My birthday is tomorrow
 My flesh is tomorrow
 My joyousness is tomorrow
 Covered wagons looking for jewels.
 Jasper. Yashepheh.
 Nothing in this dirt but black and white hands,
 Building a country together.
 There is no more light still in that bathroom
 Anstalten Kumla or Brooklyn, NY?
 I haven’t learned anything new since I was out of college,
 The school of steel reserve, colt.45, crazy horse.
 In session,
 All the words I’ve written have lead me to being a clipper of coupon
 I finally had a woman fix my bathroom light,
 A man of some import, sex appeal, and taxing aggression.
 Typing/Scribing/Copying/Reordering alphabets
 Bowel movements on the living room floor,
 In the meantime. 


 Straight lace curtains closed
 Losing frequently,
 Licking the floor.
 Good catholic boy ruins neighborhood with fruitless claims.
 This is the only simulation,
 The real game is under topsoil.
 Remember when we went to the beach and had the yellow boombox?
 Loudly proclaiming our youth?
 What fools.
 What hubris,
 What armor piercing deadliness did we think we held?
 Well, I remain that boombox.
 To let you all know,
 You go to this place where they all hate you
 You come home and cook a dinner for misrepresentation 
 You didn’t want those four walls,
 Those two kids
 The three hairs left on your head,
 All you wanted was to do well
 Well…Here’s well.
 I love that I know you are scoffing at this, right here.
 It’ll wash over you soon enough
 Probably while making sandwiches with messages to be tossed away. 

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