Thursday, May 31, 2007

Forbidden Fruit

I know right and wrong,
admittedly, wrong better than right.
When I choose what I know I shouldn’t,
pangs of guilt like Ninja warriors
spider-crawl from the pit of my stomach—
they thrive in dark, smelly places,
throwing their poison tipped shuriken
at every thought milling about ear to ear.
Likewise, on the rare occasion when I squeeze
my fat belly through the eye of a needle,
angels shake off dust from a closet in my brain,
and leap to sparks that gleam in my eyes.
Now, that I’ve shown I’m familiar with both,
why do I want what I can’t have?

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Maximum Capacity Twelve

Instead of a graduation ceremony,
from the hallowed halls of politician “U”,
the graduates bow before the altar of
“all sides of any issue”, and flick
their tongues through “tickle your ear” blades
of cheap plastic—donated of course, shredders.
Now don’t get weepy eyed, and
pressurizing your veins with sympathy,
all feelings and intelligent thought
have been disconnected from their brains.
They also get to carry one home
in case any of the flapping strands
start bonding together in an honest opinion.

Friday, May 25, 2007

Menu Of Molecules

It’s belly swollen, like
a water hose ready to burst,
stretched out on warm asphalt
digesting a meal of critter a la carte.

I could envision it slithering
through the weeds and tall grass,
flicking through a menu of molecules,
airborne specials of fur and fright.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Think-N-Wear Thoughts

I love Spring mornings
when the sun towels dew
from bushy heads of green,
and white cloth clouds
scrub night from baby blue skin.

My think-n-wear thoughts
flap in a tumble-dry breeze,
refreshing what I’ll put on my mind,
before I start sweating out the day.

Monday, May 21, 2007

Squinting Rosewood

I woke this morning
to my brain sweeping
the detritus of dreams
under the rug of a first yawn.
The sun, with feathers of birdsong,
wiped the dust of darkness off
the squinting rosewood of day.

Friday, May 18, 2007

A Special Rose

Roses are the most common
floral expression of love.
Six for $9.95 at Kroger
says as much as $29.95
at the florist shop with
the little bell that thanks you
for coming in and going out.
Twenty bucks is a lot to pay
to say your welcome to a bell.
But, for someone more special
than common can convey,
the first ray of morning sun,
cut diagonally above its fiery roots,
is the only stem and pedestal
that can hold my thoughts of you.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Alphabet Rust

Like old “Buk”
I’m looking for the perfect poem,
one that captures the birth of a world
in the dot above the “i”.

Of course, if I found it
I’d be done, and have no need
for metaphors kept in zip lock bags,
nor synonyms in a screw top jar.

All my boxes of “a’s” and “e’s”,
separated from the “t’s” and “q’s”,
have no value as alphabet rust, only
strung together are there threads to read.

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Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Duets With Dust

He’s wearing sunglasses
and holding a plastic saxophone,
a red silk shirt and no pants;
whiskers protrude from his snout
like arms on an old TV antennae.
It’s a stuffed animal, of course, with
a “press-here” button in the empty paw
that makes him bump and grind,
and toot a tune that’s irritating as hell.
A jazz rat playing duets with dust,
limited engagements, as I allow.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Feet Don’t Fail Me Now

Calories stormed the walls
of mouth and teeth
under cover of fried chicken,
mashed potatoes and gravy.
They compromised my tongue
with unholy bribes of taste,
repelling down the throat
into a warm sea of Belly Bulge.
They're intent on colonizing
the outer territory of my waistline,
but I’ll damn their venture
with the lapping flames of my feet.

Friday, May 11, 2007


I love honey
in whatever form it comes:
a sweet, slow-mo waterfall
raising the level in a glass pool
of smoke-the-tongue barbeque sauce;
a word whispered in my ear
drizzling dreams on unglazed thoughts
from a ladle of sterling lips.

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Thursday, May 10, 2007

Mercy Of Clorox

It’s laundry day,
and I have a basket full.
There are blue jeans I wore
when the weather turned cool, shirts
still sweaty from last week’s walks.
Bras and panties (not mine of course)
and a pair of defenseless briefs,
even Clorox can’t absolve.

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

Can’t Teach An Old Dog New Tricks

I caught a whiff of a lady's perfume
while taking my afternoon walk.
It must’ve got hung on a leaf overhead
waiting on a nose to break its fall.

My eyes burned vision like tires on a car
trying to catch the owner of the scent.
It was smell pleasant enough, and
I thought it’d be polite to return sniff for sniff.

They were way too slow, and had to wait
on me before rounding any curves. So,
my organ of smell was all that got pleased,
and it was pleased on several more turns.

Monday, May 07, 2007

Sun Puppies

Shadows scamper around my yard
like a fuzzy litter of frisky pups.
They yip and nip at a passing breeze,
stirring up the ire of jealous, old pansies.

Darting in and out between legs of light,
a mother that protects her paw-less heirs.
They nuzzle and nurse on sagging rays
growing taller and stronger by end of day.

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Sunday, May 06, 2007

On The Road

Sunday Morning CBS reviewed
every movie
coming out for ‘07 summer release.

Some, seemed exciting enough
the allure of chocolate boogers.

My girlfriend watches this show
church, as it were, with inspired commercials.

I always sit scratching hair off my thoughts,
wondering if
Charles Kuralt ghost writes the show.

Thursday, May 03, 2007

Putting On Airs

We all have personal waste factories
with internal smoke stacks pointing “south”.
There’s no switches, levers , or valves
to control accidental emissions release.
They rumble through working guts of automation
(fine tuned by the hand of God)
in their own inconvenient timing, of course.
Most cover the end of the line with fancy filters,
colorful, sized-to-fit cotton or high dollar silk.
Useless for protecting the immediate environment,
works well for putting on airs, if you get my drift.

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Illuminating Infrared

Today, as I walked on
the backs of waving shadows
part of a conversation jumped
from a pair of wagging pony tails
to an ever inquisitive appetite
in the belly of my inner ear.

The one blurted out to the other, as if
I was one of the myriad of tree reflections
flirting for the attention of rubber soles,
“you won’t believe what Alan did
when he turned out the lights”.

Everything in me stopped,
except for my feet that knew better
than to turn around to hear what Alan did.
When my mind caught up with my stride
I switched on my peeping-tom,
night-vision imagination, and filled in the blanks
with illuminating infrared.

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