First, I just want to say a few things: I have been quite sick with the Black Plague, so please forgive me that this has taken longer than expected to post.  The Black Plague is like Emphysema for small animals.  Or, imagine if you kept blowing your nose, but all that came out with large blood clots. For my thoughts on this sickness, please reference the photograph on my new author page.

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On to Ms. Morganne!  She has some lovely work included in Read This Magazine’s Skin Deep Anthology (preorder!!)  Which includes the venerable Kim Addonizio (holy shit!)  She also should be being interviewed very soon at One Night Stanzas as well, as a Featured Poet!  She is basically more famous than your Grandmother, which is saying a lot because your Grandmother was a Nazi who made people into lampshades!

I shall now include yet another of her amazing poems:

You Let Men Lay On You

-by Morganne Couch

Don’t give me that bullshit about
being a goddess, you let men lay on you.

your teeth are falling out, one by one. don’t swallow the fluoride.
don’t swallow the anesthetics. you gave him both of your kidneys.
you are dying with bruises on your shoulders and you are dying
without a spine and you are dying.

he buried your mouth in the gutter, he threw your bowels
in the streets and the dogs fought over them. you told me
you just wanted to die with a little dignity. This is not honor;
a pitbull chewing on your large intestine.

The dogs are howling while you let men lay on you.

Again, check out her poetry account here, to read more.

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Interview:

1. Introduce yourself, please.
My name is Morganne Couch, and I think my name is an awful combination of words, but I supposed that is suitable for an individual like myself. I spend most of my time not doing anything, and the rest I usually spend kissing people, reading, drawing or writing. I love doing all of these things and being recognised for it. Unfortunately, so does everyone else.

2. What influences your writing and art?
A lot of my artwork is inspired by writing and a lot of my writing is inspired by artwork. I don’t quite understand this yet. But I’m also very much influenced by Tom Waits, Michelangelo, Henry Miller, Mae West, Animals, Sex, Biology, Heather Bell, Language and the messes people make. I could have probably said ‘everything influences my work’ but that would have been boring and a big lie.

3. How do you feel about things like this?
I think these are fantastic and wonderful, and more silly, racey things like this should exist.

4. How often do you eat eggs?
As seldom as I can. Eggs scare me, with their nice shapes and bright yellow centers. But actually I just think they taste terrible.

5. Are you published anywhere, have any writing/art achievements you would like to mention?
I’m not published anywhere yet, although there are plans for up and coming small publications very soon which I am excited about. In march, I’m supposed to be featured on One Night Stanzas, Read This Magazine is publishing one of my poems, and I am also going to be part of the Skin Deep anthology. I’ve had a lot of luck, albeit I think it’s just because Claire Askew wants me to bake her forty dozen cookies.

As for art, I live in the smallest town ever, so I haven’t had the opportunity for exhibitions, but I’ve sold a handful of drawings which is definitely exciting to know maybe I won’t starve to death!

6. What is your mother’s name and how has that influenced your art?
Shaw; I think this has been my secret source of inspiration for many years. Along side drive-by’s, zebra masks, rifle barrels and the way my make-up sometimes smudges after sex.

7. Is it accurate to say that you are a derogatory and terrible human being?
Maybe not derogatory, but definitely terrible. Haha, I love being terrible, if I wasn’t, life would be boring and less bloody.

8. How do you feel about form poetry?
Some of it is nice, although I think it’s good to break away from that. Counting syllables, OKAY; but if you’re writing a couplet or sestina or ghazal all the time, it’s going to get boring. Don’t do that. Boring is why poetry has a bad reputation!

9. How do you feel about ‘writing popularity’?
Any popularity towards writing is good, I think. Unless that means vampires and romance. Then just shoot me. I mean it.

10. Lastly, when did you start writing/making art?
I used to make my sister hand drawn coloring books as a kid, but I’ve only been drawing seriously for about five years. Writing on the other hand is difficult to pin down. Mostly I’ve read since I could walk and when I wrote it was shitty, until about 6months ago. Then people started saying things like ‘You’re Good!’ and ‘r u naked?’ and ‘HajusjJJJJahahdhheyryfb’, so I keep going.

BONUS QUESTION: Send me a dollar and a pitcher of beer?
OF COURSE!

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Morganne then decided to ask ME some silly questions.  Well, it was supposed to me ONE question, but she is a terrorist.  Here is her question(s):

What is your favorite poem of your own? Why and is there any special meaning we don’t know about?

I don’t think I necessarily have a favorite poem.  Well, perhaps it was “It Takes Awhile,” which I can no longer link you to because I took it offline and it is going to be featured in The Columbia Review soon-ish, so I am not even going to include a snippet here.

The reason behind my loving this poem was because it was all 100% true.  Normally, I write a lot of scathing lies about my compatriots and enemies.  I am an asshole.  But this poem was a little different.  One night I felt like I was having a complete nervous breakdown and was standing at the top of the staircase slapping myself in the face and hitting my head on the wall.  It is the complete sense of alienation and despair.  I am one of those people that will slap you if you write only about ‘yourself’ and your life all the time, being too frightened to get out of that box, so saying I love this poem the most is kind of scandalous.  At the same time, actually writing down what happened was frightening enough, that maybe I can be OK with loving this poem.  OK.

As for “special meaning,” it is about what it is clearly about.  The end.  For anyone who never read this poem, sorry for the vagueness.  It truly is my favorite and I am not going to lie just so I can link something.  So kill yourself!

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I shall leave you with real poetry, instead of my stupidity of writing about nothing:

The Year Of The Animal

by Morganne Couch

january,

i am attempting to hide from
you. i am hibernating in a bed
four times my size. i am imitating
a bear, clawing at you and growling
in my deepest growl.

february,

i stuffed you in a heart
shaped box and burried
you in my garden.

nothing grew,
but when i planted
radishes they tasted like
chocolate raspberries.

march,

where are your lions and lambs?
i have pigeon toes and
wild oats for hair,

april,

i went to the doctor on
the 10th. i learned that
i had fourty two feathers growing
from my shoulder blades.

may,

el cielo es azul,
y te quiero,

june,

my legs are the color of mosquitos,
which is deep blood red and scratches.
potato bugs crawl up my skirt.

july,

my teeth are too big for
my mouth. my appetite is
too big for my stomach.

the doctor says
that the way my
nails have turned
into claws is not normal.

august,

i have a heart murmer
and it feels like a

small rabbit growing in my upper
chest, with it’s legs kicking in
my throat.

september,

my spine is rearranging itself,
and i cannot walk on legs
alone anymore.

october,

my thumbs are gone.

november,

it is cold and i am not
cold because i am covered
in feathers and fur and i have a snout

december,

all i can do is roar.

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BE SURE TO TELL HER THAT YOU LOVE HER POETRY. OR TELL ME AND I WILL TELL HER.  OR EAT ANIMALS SUCH AS ELK OR MONGOOSE.  BE SURE TO DIE AS WE ALL DIE.  THANK YOU.