Saturday, May 19, 2018

See foaming form on pallmall lips, 
filing steadfast, and halting clatter for the kid--
 bemoaning warm snail trail sips, 
piling protest on a platter of sphincter squid:

MY HUMANITY IS NOT SELFLESS!!!
MY HEART IS MINE, YOU BOWL OF SHELLFISH!

Love is a heaven where Gods do lounge and lust?
Love is just a couch of clouds bound to shift and bust?

"Piss of frog on a goldenrod stem
Irish mist on the lady's hem
Pink veins bleed charcoal crinoline"

Inky gropes on grosgrain strings
Shuffles velvet decks of cordate kings    
Ass imbibes the red banquet
She dreams now of love she's never met
Eats out now on begs and achin'
Dreams of all the heart she's fakin'

"Oh, he can lance a Chimera's boil with a salt and peppered laugh
Oh, he can dance Chicken Eater coil round a halting Shepherd's Staff."

Puttering, exuding on a zinger "Multinodular goiter on the grey man with blue breath."
Muttering, brooding so as to linger ("A might faulty if you loiter...whittling words till nothing's left...")
Shuddering, concluding with index finger:
"Public Indecency Causing Death!"

Friday, May 18, 2018

Bad Luck




I waited up for days.
You never showed.


No. 

It was just one night
that, spent in waiting, glowed-
with an excitement that surety never brings.


Infallible as chain link in a fence-

anticipation, a woman’s best defence. 
Protecting one from being a heroine ...
another from being a wench.

Your hand always plied with equal calm, 

over papers and thoughts.


Discerning, determining nothing except for 
the plausibility of another person's wants, 
while petting your dog,
or taking up a cup.

If you hem, I stitch another plot
To meet the expectations of a world

 I know you recognize as fraught. 
Artifacts of collective truth are all we're ever promised.
Ah, to possess the patience of a Ruth, and the doubting of a Thomas.


And nothing is possession 

except these obsessions 
that coddle us, cradle to grave. 
I'm sorry for nothing in this life, 
except the joy I could not save.


Expenditure is my appendage. Yours?
A flowering average thriving.

If stuck between heaven and the deep blue sea, 
I have to say, "I'd rather be diving."
Grappling for the specifics of that hue,

the nature of that incandescent, unknown blue.

Seagulls scream at sun up,
the fish are at a loss
A black cat scratches on the corner 

Waiting for a man to cross,
who'll call bad luck his owner. 

Friday, May 4, 2018

The Vanilla Martini Day Massacre




"Hello, Barrow Street.  I'm a bonny avenue." 

Yes it's nice to meet you too.

here, at this 'Winterstice' ... where fevered white pellets commune in the chocolate square cracks, of a manhole cover concealing centennials of crap.

With a glass heart blowing fire, burrowing holes in my back

and the cold provides clarity so the wind portends calm
and all of my longings, they are, so far, longings long gone.

times I alight with a life swept, spent, lilt
or cowering in the webbed spans of counterclockwise guilt sifting the sands

babe cradled by tide, tide rocking in silt.

But i am ok... Okay?


"If it's ok with you.” 

NYC - 2007