
Poet Republik-Lina ramona Vitkauskas
Welcome to the world of Lina ramona Vitkauskas’ poetic brain. Featured here is the winning poem for the inaugural poetry competition of Ping-Pong, journal of literature and arts published by the Henry Miller Memorial Library. The challenge here is to write an imitation of this beautiful piece. And thank-you Lina for playing along!
We Can Be Heroes
You are the rodent,
an open window.
A man is but a product of his thoughts.
Be regulated but not homogenized.
You know the tightrope trick.
Everyone plays it like Slinky or derivatives.
Stretched out—but you cannot see
you.
The lindens hear conversations.
You won’t kneel before all of us,
won’t pay attention,
won’t mouth the
and what do you do with the poetry?
You know the drill:
we see Philadelphia,
eek our tools out—all primitive and culturally
significant; here—you can fall down
the slope
aching from porking
it’s a delicious stew,
what we claim to be
conversation.
I say
we nuzzle down
into Mother dirt
and plan our breaking.
My philosophy is poking you.
If you desire ease, forsake learning,
and if you desire cheese,
welcome to this planet.
Wonder if we could be
all of us,
we could speak our own
langostino.
You throw the javelin
and women,
you spear the
crayfish.
Speak to me in mollusk,
we know the new
slang-uage,
we know new Freuds,
we know you have paid
for your tickets to see the giant
teletype, grifters among
the space junk and
invisible planes.
Lina ramona Vitkauskas is the author of SPINY RETINAS (Mutable Sound, 2014); Professional Poetry (White Hole Press, 2013); A Neon Tryst (Shearsman Books, 2013); HONEY IS A SHE (Plastique Press, 2012); THE RANGE OF YOUR AMAZING NOTHING (Ravenna Press, 2010); Failed Star Spawns Planet/ Star (dancing girl press, 2006); and Shooting Dead Films with Poets (Fractal Edge Press, 2004).

You make me complete,
just a tiny prick.
My veins disappear when I need them most.
My addiction and they don’t understand.
Black gooey salvation
My arms show the traces of your unworldly relief.
Nod out—let it take over
me.
My body is only a vessel
I have no respect for myself,
I do what’s needed,
just to feel
I can’t live without my dark medicine!
I know the risks
I have seen an overdose,
it’s a game of chance—my rescue is also what kills me
repulsive: life—but we all die
someday
bleeding for pleasure
I go by many names,
forget who I was
delusion
I cry
because I don’t
want to continue
to depend on you.
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