PISS ON YOUR PARADE
by Cynthia Ruth Lewis
Self Published
Send $5 to P.O. Box 232984, Sacramento CA 05823 or
inquire at: bookas6670@yahoo.com


       “I don’t usually carry handbags, but I’ve
       got to conceal the hatchet with something.”

Thus begins the title poem of Cynthia Ruth Lewis’ first chapbook, Piss On Your Parade which may well be the literary equivalent of the first Suicidal Tendencies album, in the sense that people who think they are really cool will experience the content contained within said medium and righteously proclaim “that’s not poetry and/or music.”  

Cynthia’s response:

       “you underestimate me

       but for you to blow me off like that
       my only desire now is to plunge this
       knife deep, deep within the folds of
       your flesh, and watch the blood run
       out of you…”

- from “How The Blade Gleams In The Soft Moonlight”

Gen X has definitely delivered up a series of “bad-ass” female authors from the Left coast, a wonderful group we might think of as the daughters of Kathy Acker (think Daphne Gottlieb, Debbie Kirk, MK Chavez, Misti Rainwater-Lites, and Lisa Zaran.) But even among that group it’s difficult to as pure a white-hot homicidal vision as what Lewis brings to the table.  She’s not the one you want to run into in a dark alley after having screwed her over.

Seasoned poetry readers might be put off by the awkwardness and occasionally sloppy writing (not unusual for writers who are new to the craft) yet there is enough strong writing that stretches beyond sheer hatred, particularly in the poems “Innocence By A 40 Watt Bulb” (I’m beautiful—downright angelic if you see me in the proper light…my pale skin mocked by neon clarity, alabaster shield luminous in the glaring enemy light) and “Images”(your one unbandaged eye trained weakly on me, awaiting my touch on your now gray fur/pulling you roughly from the car to pretend I didn’t care.)  It’s important to remember that these slices of compassion aren’t reserved for other humans, but for the self or a pet. Lewis isn’t about to give that up to another member of the human species any time soon, and for good reason.

What’s refreshing though is that this prose NEVER asks quarter or pity for itself.  Lewis lets you know she’s been kicked around the block more than a few times, but dwelling is the wrong response.

Lewis writing’ should continue to grow from these foundations. It’s hard to see her remaining in such a white hot anger, but the potential for her work to transform into a shining cold leviathan is extremely promising; she is likely to be making waves in the coming years before the meteor hits.

-Paul Corman-Roberts