After Jim Krusoe

At midnight Madonna & Prince climb aboard the
Deathstar. After they nosh on nacho cheese
Hors d’oeuvres, they are taken to their rooms
which are decorated in the very latest
Levitz furniture designs.
They have 4-wall video screens with constantly
shifting images off MTV rotations from
Prince gazes at the smash cuts of slam dance
sequences & head banging thrasher music.
He was secretly wishing they were slo-mo
scenes of 1950’s Main St. strippers wearing
shoes with heels so high they had to pose
leaning on bedposts or staircase railings.
Madonna worries one of her pink painted toenails
Into the ansanylon rug: she purrs into the intercom:
“Wow, isn’t this groovy, Prince?”
Prince replies: “If only Appollonia were here, it would
all be so totally rad.”
In actuality, Madonna & Prince haven’t been so chilled &
At ease, since their game of truth or dare inside these new
Hypnotic environs: they no longer wanted to

know anything about what was going on outside:
as a matter of fact, if it’s of any importance to anyone else down there
in the real world, not a single citizen was aware of
just exactly when the monsters had inhabited the
city of Los Angeles. Or when blood began to bloom
like puddles of spilled burgundy along Bundy Drive

This volume is characterized by examinations of either a misalignment of evidence or, in some cases, purposefully unsolved American crime.

Ford's premise has always been that to present literary proof that America itself is an unsolved murder!

From the manufactured war-for-profit in Viet Nam, to the executive action against President Kennedy, in Dallas: from the Manson family atrocities in the Hollywood Hills to the O.J. Simpson conspired nightmare in the Southern California upscale community of Brentwood: from the maligned cover-up of the 1947 Black Dahlia murder in Los Angeles to a 1960s deceptively obscure female serial killer in the Mid-Western united States, here is Ford's spontaneous combustion of poetic narrative pictures of America in much of its peculiar specifics and in all of its caustic generalites.

-The Publishers at ION DRIVE


MCF writes for all of us who have earned our bad conduct medals, firing words into the dark with a snub-nosed revolver Bogart stole from Rexroth. And he draws blood with every wild shot.

-Rex Weiner (author of The Adventures of Ford Fairlane)


So much excitement, life and heart in these poems that it heps to bring into focus the magnitude of what Ford has been doing through the years; a sustained vision of existence in this peculiar corner of our world, where the human spirit flourishes in spite of our madness.

-Fred Voss (author of Carnegie Hall With Tin Walls)

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