Thursday, November 29, 2012


zing zang BOOM!
the Mother of all
cosmic conflagration
nebula to spatula
ass over dipper

the big black nothing
spits its first atom
which splits and splits and splits...
atom to Adam

Whoa! there goes a sun
and a half dozen moons!
expand, contract
burp and fart
a universe in the making
and Helen Keller so

stardust and twinkle
moon glow and star show
comets tell the tale
of the first batch
of miracle grow

a seed, a tree
the first ray of Sun
as the dust settles
and the serpent slinks
to consider

in perfect blueprint


is this
what it's like
to be borne
in a test tube?

the ejaculation
of a God gone mad


Monday, November 26, 2012

The Results Are In

well, it's confirmed
I took the Shlitzenbauer and Meinkouf test
and the results are in
-I'm crazier than bat shit

I shoulda knowed it
when my long time therapist
hung up his shingle
to become a tattoo artist
three doors down from the Hell's Angels

but no, I needed a second opinion
and after ten minutes of ink blots
she threw the cards in the air
and said,
"What the fuck's a matter with you?
none of those answers are in the book!"

I shoulda knowed it in sixth grade
when Sister Laurel broke down in tears
and said,
"You're the devil's spawn, Richard!
God's no match for you."

I shoulda knowed it my senior year
when I handed the principal
my 117th absence note
written by me, and he just winked
and said,
"You just take as much time off as you need, Son"

I shoulda knowed it when my poor demented mother
lay dying, with tubes running out her nose
and shit running down her leg
and said,
"You know, you just ain't right, boy."

I shoulda knowed it a thousand times
a thousand ways
by the looks in their eyes
by the ways mother's prayed
when I looked at their daughters

I'm nuttier than planters
fruitier than a Florida grove
loopier than a Disney roller coaster
and the Germans in Cosmopolitan
just proved it.

Friday, November 23, 2012

Why Gods Hide

it's hard to be a god
even harder,
when you're forced into the job
~just ask google

Josey Wales
wasn't looking for a congregation,
did his damn finest to avoid one

but next thing you know
you turn around
and there they are
baby birds, stretched from the nest
waitin for a worm

so you draw a map
build a boat
invent a mantra

then plan
your midnight escape

but the cries can be heard
through the mountain passes
the mourning and fasting
travels the ocean
on swelling tides of guilt

until finally, your horse
you have to turn
and wings he has to grow
to skyward race
in search of the lost patrol

and there they are
treading water
just where you left them

the map lost
the boat stolen
the mantra your doom

the trouble with being a god
is that
you can never be anything else

Monday, November 19, 2012

My Unruly Mistresses

I'm trying to get there from here
and I need to get there fast
but that bitch is having none of it

she wants me to see that Amish farm
three gravel roads from hell
that biggest ball of twine
In Darrin Miller's front yard
the duck pond
just outside Bugtussel

finally, I can take no more
"Fuck You, Bitch!
I'm not taking all those two lanes
through every shit bag town
in Nebraska."

she pouts, gets quiet,
ignores my plea for reroute

I tap her lightly
change gears in demeanor
stroke her
"Please, Baby?
I really need a freeway."

she sighs,
and I feel bad

I need to make a call
tentatively, I press the button
on she I call Blue Tooth

"Say a command"
I smile
now we're talkin!
"call Dad"

she pauses

"Did you say, call Mab?"

I nearly cry, but know I can't win
I demur
"yes, please"

she's ready for this
"I don't understand. Call Mab?"

I cringe
"Yes."(she doesn't like please)

not only has she changed my father's name to mab
but she's forcing me to be rude.
"calling mab"
she says with deep satisfaction.

I need to check an email
which means waking Sheila
the cell phone from hell

she just rolls over and pulls the covers
over her head as I watch
the little gray line not move

I tap it lightly,
try to hold my temper
but she aint buyin

"c'mon bitch, wake up!"
I bang her on the dash
"it's not like I'm asking for tickets
to the Met!"

she giggles
and the line moves ever so slightly
-then stops

I caress the line
stroke her gently
coax her love
"c'mon, Baby
give Daddy some sugar."

but it's no use
I know her moods
and her evil sisters' moods

and I lay now
the rose of sympathy
at the tomb of Solomon
questioning his wisdom

Thursday, November 15, 2012

Here In Buffalo

there's just somethin bout rain
on a Monday morning in a Buffalo
lost between seasons

I watch a drop
begin at the top of the windshield
sizzling cold in careless meander
as doors close all around me

the leaves of spring
grown weary,
have turned palm down
in failed death
bleeding bleeding bleeding

funny, how quickly
daycare in June
becomes the cancer ward
of November

somewhere there's a book,
a warm fire
keeping watch over a dreaming cat

there's a regatta
splashing pretty colours
over a sun blinding bay

Paris is bustling
Fifth Avenue is getting all Macied up
pretending not to notice
that the laughing daffodils
have migrated to Capetown

but here in Buffalo
it's a rainy day on Monday
and my my mind plays eave
to the cold rain
my heart expels

Monday, November 12, 2012


think I'll head to the biker bar tonight
all chain drive and black leathered
meet up with Johnny and Jack
shoot some pool, knock some heads
lose a tooth or two
over some hard ridin mama
in torn jeans and greasy bandana

I'll close my eyes, loll my head,
sway drunkenly to the Allmans
then spit in a shout out
"Hey! Somebody play some fuckin Thorogood!"

then, just before I'm half-patched in
I'll punch in an entire album
of Sarah McLachlan and walk out

I'll stagger to that blues bar
Second and Broadway
black shades and hoodie
a fat ruby in my ear

my head will nod smile-less
to Muddy Waters
while I find my rhythm
and ebony Goddess

but just before I master
the fifteen-step handshake
I'll punch in Barry Manilow's
greatest hits
before walking out

tomorrow, I'll go to church
front pew and Christmas aftershave
belting out Amazing Grace
while fixing a little boy's collar

I'll eat their bread
cry tears of confession
shout out for salvation

but then
just before learning tongues, instead of
drinking their kool-aid,
I'll pull out the flask
light up a joint

and head for the door
singing, I drink alone,
all by myself

what can I say?
I just love to fuck up
a good party

Friday, November 9, 2012

Just Now

I'm in love

the sky is gray and cluttered
plump lazy rollers
void of direction

like a fat man
climbing stairs

all coming together
to the first warm wind of spring
autumn, too,
knows a little magic

and now, just now
I'm under her spell
so glad to yet, once more,
be touched

the geese beat quickly
the snorting buck ruts
the sweater
is excavated

I'm in love
with you
that understands
and knows

that just now,
this is poem enough

Monday, November 5, 2012

The Bloodless Choice

a morning incongruous
beneath the breaking egg
tranquility of stillness
masks in silent
my violent intentions

i step, dotting each eye
crossing each T
breathing shallow as spill
his, my motive

a snap to my left
i stop mid-step
to hair rising
portent to shiver

leaves shuffle in betrayal
my eyes slide to port

there, just below the rise
a fog of breath
the balloon
he cannot hide

the safety slides
in steel whisper
as ballerina sans pathos
i become

the trail leads up
this i know
i do not exist
this his hope

a hope
to find a place of rest
in the tall swamp brush
but knows
the dawn has found him
careless and tardy

will he drink from the pond
midnight frozen, after
the searchlight has
burned out
at end of day?

will he scrape the tree
in show of force?
rut her offering
before the ritual
of primal conquer?

or will he hang by his feet?
dripping his hope
into my sea of vanquish?

will his guts heap
for the ravenous wolf?
the thieving crow?
will she mourn his demise
or even wonder?

i feel his steps now
as his crown of iron thorns
comes into view

down the ridge
i hear the applauding crows
discuss my strategy

finger to the trigger
he lifts his glory
and breathes, all
alarms in denial

but my violence
on this November morn
is not sufficient
to fatten my arrogance

yesterday? yes
tomorrow? maybe
but today
i take not the king

more the victor, i've never felt
as i watch him disappear
while the crows cackle in mock
and the safety sighs


Sunday, November 4, 2012

A Place of Quiet

I would like to take a moment to thank the friends I've made here for their kind words and support.
Your visits and comments have meant much to me and given value to the word's I've written.
Thank you all so much for the smiles and encouragement.
I now feel a need to step back a bit into a place of quiet, so I've decided to close down comments.
I will still be writing as I don't know how not to. I also will be reading my friends and dropping by to say hello.
This just feels like something I need to do now, and who lnows, I may feel totally different a month from now.
Thank you again, for being such good friends and kind readers. I'm deeply grateful.

Friday, November 2, 2012

Me and Hank

I woke up
in the backseat of Hank Williams'
Cadillac again

I was scrunched in one corner,
he in the other
as I felt his sharp kick

"Get up, Boy!
We got a show in Jackson tonight."

opening one eye barely
the blinding light
blazing through the trees
seared my fried mind

"Where are we?"
I somehow mumbled
while drifting back to numb

"How the fuck should I know?
Alabama, I think."

I fell out to take a piss,
get my bearings,
-hope i would die

we were in the gravel lot
of a backwoods roadhouse
now abandoned
and a few memories kicked in

I should've cried,
but i giggled maniacally

"Hey, Hank.
What happened with that blonde
all painted up like a circus?"

He was pissing off the other fender

"The one with the red pants?"

I laughed
"Yeah, she looked like cherry jello
in an earthquake."

he hawked up some stale whiskey,
spit, and his shaking fingers
lit a cigarette.

"I don't know, Boy.
The barkeep said she was buggy
and she danced like shit."

getting in behind the wheel,
trying to focus,
I wondered which way
Jackson was and how far
as Hank plunked away
in the backseat
"I saw the light."

the motor fired up,
I guessed left
not really caring
as i flung rocks and dirt
on another fucked up night

I glanced in the mirror
where Hank sat looking
like a pile of bad shit
smokin a lucky,
searchin for chords
to bend

"Hey Hank?"
"Yeah, Boy?"
"How come we live like this?"

Hank looked out the window
far beyond my seeing

"Cuz some of us were never meant to get old,
and dyin young isn't as easy as most people think."

I just smiled and nodded,
knowing Hank was right again