Joey Zoey

Iraq (Vietnam): Fake zeal bog. A coy joy ax. Hope dies. Woe. — Dirk Stratton

Dear Joey, I love you. I quake, gaze, weep, fib. A chaste minx. / A big geek. I jot this safe. In Mexico. You, Iraq. I plead a dizzy vow. / Do you recognize me, jealous ex? I bequeath a view of a peak. / Up. A quite jagged horizon—no way back—exiles me of a eve. / You speak, agog, of awe. A Mexican equatorial haze above jade. / I, Max Quill, having a cozy, jaded breakfast, weep. / I exist awful, alone in my gazebo. Cave. Opaque joker hid. / Quoth hobo Joey Zoey: «I lie awake dreaming up five excuses.» / (I know a quip) Joey Zoey used to live here, a magic fox boy. / Zoey moved when I quit Toxico. A big spark of full joy / for Max Quill. But Joey Zoey? Sucked! When I gave up / my Toxico job, Zoey squirreled away a knife. He gave up, / quit sex, love, joy, a maze of odd change. We broke up. / Zoey joined a posse. The cavalry. Iraq. My ex-boy, a weak fag.

Voodoo Jazz Saxophone, quietly wreck me. I beg of you. / Joey Zoey blew his sax every day. A fact. I’m opaque, quaking. / Now weak, I groove to Miles. Joey Zoey, you fixed quiche, pub boy. / Guff. Vexed. Joey won’t make a squeal, buzz, chirp. / Exquisite jazz, you made a wave of belching pork. / Enrique, you fucked me. Steal away jazz, pave a big hoax. / I’ve a few. Enough about you, queer. I dump you, lazy sex jockey. / I shouldn’t be jumpy... Quick! Gaze off! Fax a review! / I give Juan an essay about tequila, keep a hazy word of Mexico. / Praxis solid, quaky, we meant to efface Joey Zoey above a hug. / Joey Zoey gone! Now I bet he’d like a square Axe Five comp! / Ah! My fave tape! Radio box squawking jazz. Cool! / Okay, jazz squad, blow a tune. Cough a proof of vavoom moxie. / Love, examine a fizzy jig, a wretched pub squeak. / A wee bonzo quartet jammed deaf: excessive happy polka gig. / Bad queer poet. Weave a smoky jazz lounge café hoax. / Atomic X-ray weapons above fog quelled jazz haiku. / Excoriate a fake oboe, squalid Joey Zoey, you who gave up on me. 

Now I speak to Joey Zoey. I quarrel. I chafe. I give. Dumb ox. / I quote you Marx, Jung, Chekov, Bozo. I spew a flood./ If foxy Zoey went to Java or Quebec, I’d like huge maps. / A puzzle: Bad Dow Jones is astray. Give him a quick fix! / I object to Texas! A «Qik-’n’-EZ» fool oil war. May I give up a Ph.D.? / A fox hunt! We woke up a bad dog: U. Sam I am. Muzzle quivery Cujo. / Bush did deploy Joey Zoey to Iraq. I examine a wave of icky goo / on TV. A mob razes Fallujah. A hoax? I quake, icy, agog, awed deep. / Fox News squeezed out a jerky clip: a big Humvee. / A quick fix above a tidy DMZ. Jargon: «Willy P.» A Phos-/phorus sky blazed. a quite toxic image of a view we join. 
Why a huge Zeno’s paradox aim? Quell a fake objective. / Shock Qatar. Awe Jalalabad. Pave Gaza. Nix, mummify / Azerbaijan. Annex UAE… Pique Moscow. Weak tough love: deify a iffy foe. / A jihad daze? or are you Iraqis expelling a wave of a attack mob? / We subjugate you; you explode. IED, defy, zone in on a quarry, rock a Humvee. / Al Queda commits hijinx: zap! Pop off a very big wake. / Exhume a flunky, give juiced-up boys to Zarqawi. / Offed: a dead baby by Blackwater, Iraq. Expunge Joey Zoey. Save him. / Exit Tariq Aziz. Caged, in jail, he vows «OK—I bump you off.»

We, with hazy, exiguous kevlar, are jumped by a unique face. / A paroxism of violence. We bought it. A dizzy joke? Q/uid pro quo. May we give Joey Zoey, a sick boy, an exit out of hell? / Will, like, Joey, zipped in a noxious squib obituary, arrive home off a foggy C-1? / A gamey job: zip up a xanthous, yellow-face cadaver. I quake. / I give a sallow waif boy, a jaundice, queazy ex-arm amputee, a hook. / Meek, puffy ex-wives squeal in dizzy, abject horror, gag. / «An exquisite kill, JZ,» a chubby MP approved. «Guffaw!» / I have a qualm about taxes used for your razing, G.I. Joey. We keep peace? / A mad joke above law: war or error? Gaffe? Faux pas? You cheat on a quiz. / Squealy maw of a hazy, prejudice, bigot Texan. KKK. voi-/ded view. Weak, foggy major or a quasi-xenophobic zealot? / Squadron bivouac: cozy foxhole. A jeep, a M-16, a keg, a wait. / You pack a bag, squeejee a humvee, void, raze, exfoliate a town. / You quibble, wreak havoc, jettison PEZ, fix damage. / You quaff a rare meal, wax a jeep, gaze into a TV: be shocked. / You do a doobie, jack off, fix a hoagie, wipe up, pee, see a Equalizer rerun on MTV. / Cop a wiggy buzz: mix a joint & a fake quaalude. A rush: heavy. / Pop a juicy zit. Eat a foul MRE. Dig a squawk box: heaven. / I box you, huge squall-jacketed MP. Frozen? Now, weave. / Zoom! Up pops G.I. Jack-in-the-Box, quivery, flawed. / Oboy. Major (Rx) Zoey gave his squad a pint of weak, icy ale. / Peace: Will Zoey, a bad mofo, geek, sexy queer, rejuvenate the / phoenix of Iraqi justice? A gamble? A lazy, weak dove.

You geek. Quell a hubbub: a wave of jumpy PTSD id. Crazy on Xa-/nax, Prozac, tequila, java. Wigged. You book of shame.

Me, I’m queer. Relaxed waves of Zijuateneho. Yep. I pack a bag. / A big Navajo jazz pow-wow: awake! You axe a sequoia, char millet food. / I jot you my prolix view. A big, icy haze of squid ink. / If craven G.I. Joey embezzles, do we pay quite a tax hike? / Adjectives: sexy, frowzy, puny, uniquely beige, geeky... home.

Do we awake? Obama, you magic prez, join in on an exquisite oath of love.