dead drunk dublin and other imaginal spaces
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p o e m s

m a r i s s a   r a n e l l o



i cannot be the 'fag' you claim i am

phiambic penis pentameter; phaiku, phuck-phoo

his id, my ego

for barry

passive responses

requiem of aversion

If you've seen a little red Mustang in a ditch, alongside a Canadian
highway, you just might have seen Marissa Ranello. Despite recent rumors
reporting her death, Ranello was not clad to the pant leg of Spalding Gray,
who jumped from the Staten Island ferry and drown this past January.
Although she's been a recluse to the 'slam' scene she once admired, she has
returned to her first love; the written word.

"In heart, I'm still the same New York City chick who searches the Village
Voice for open mic readings and cheap beer. The beer and places change, but
I keep packing my passion and unleashing that shit everywhere I go."

Marissa Ranello currently resides in Saskatchewan with her husband and
family. Her poems have appeared in several anthologies and zines over the
last few years. Her writing can be found in Unlikely Stories, Comrades,
Naked Poetry, Verse Libre Quarterly, Dirty Pigeon, and Thunder Sandwich.

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