Creation

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

double-blind

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

randomness

instantly

in perfect blueprint

or

is this

what it's like

to be borne

in a test tube?

the ejaculation

of a God gone mad

~rick

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.

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

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,

"trying"

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

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

somewhere

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

Uninvited

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

Just Now

I'm in love

the sky is gray and cluttered

plump lazy rollers

void of direction

exhaling

like a fat man

climbing stairs

all coming together

declaring

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