Month: November 2008

Waiting beneath broken bridges each week
can show no yield for the warty and odd.
Once, a goat passed whose face and voice were weak,
whose promises of his brother’s blood awed
me into letting him cross as a guest.
My gut could taste succulent goat offal
as a plumper kid soon came, but I should’ve guessed
that this one would get me something awful.
“Kill my bigger brother,” he lowed aloud,
“He ate our mother. He is no Gruff heir.”
“Fine,” my stomach grumbled, and I allowed
his passage as my belly swelled with air.
A bear-sized goat then bore down on me, heeling
my hairy head, which is just now healing.

I’ve always been more of a DC guy.

This is one of my favorite pieces. The language is a little archaic and clunky, but I love the aphoristic ending.

Exercisers on the streets
wave their aging arms
to the untapped beat
of an unseen drummer
while I sit, smoking,
behind a dark green Hummer
with sweat stinging my eyes
from the stifling summer
of CO in the skies!

Motorists on the street
wave their raging arms
in their sweat-soaked seats
at the cars next to them:
a Lexus whose driver
can’t remove the leather from his skin,
and his sweat stings his eyes
during the sweltering summer
of CO in the skies!

My greenbacks don’t go further
the farther I have to drive,
and if I ain’t careful,
my finances could deep-dive
into the sea of bankruptcy.

I once asked my Pop,
“What makes a man a man?”
He answered,
“Two things my boy:
a set of balls & a cock.”
I next asked my Pop,
“And a woman, what makes that?”
“Two things my boy:
a set of boobs & a twat.”

[It’s no wonder
He & Mother
can no longer
see each other.]

One man said that
all women came
from one man,
that man is made
by the Maker’s hands.
But who creates the Maker?
Who makes the creator’s hands?

I realize now
that wool-gathering
has no place within
the shepherd’s flock.
It’s better not
to ask such questions,
to question the maker,
to make inquires to the shepherd,
to shepherd the incensed flock.

What makes a man?
I may never know.
My Pop was right
on one thing, though.
Two things make woman:
the letter “W”
& the letter “O.”

she says,
smilingly,
winking at the sun
and not me.

my shorts
fly freely,
sailing in the sun
into the sea.

With angled limbs
so elegant, so graceful,
the widow spins
a tapestry of silk
to show her guests.
Her delicate legs
dancing upon her house,
she invites over
a neighbor.
She greets him,
and the visitor
is captivated.

The widow enjoys her neighbor’s company.