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Deciding who to
take like negotiating
Mideast peace treaty.
Like cows with their cud
we would chew constantly, and
then we’d all swallow.
From a Revealing
start to this auspicious point -
my life in short form.
An adult blankie.
To take one from its owner
will make grown men cry.
Vegans, stay away,
lest your firm resolve melt from
tender smoked brisket.
Ph.D.s waitress
here, M.A.s babysit, ’cause
no one wants to leave.
Incrementally
I clean unearthing a clear
space on the table.
haven’t found me yet
they lurk like dirty water
under dark bridges
When a righteous man
is caught with his pants down, it’s
likely he’ll get spanked.
posted to my Twitter account
I need sleep, but I * need to work but I need sleep * to work can’t think straight.
Emily Bronte * labored quietly but I * scream “Here are my words!”
a dilemma of
riches in tiny topaz
the art of language
“Read my poem? Please?”
In real life I’d get blank stares.
Here, you’re back for more.
Just over five months
This one four hundred fifty
Art or wasted time?
A haiku a day?
Not quite. Some days the tap runs,
some days it’s bone dry.
see also Constant reader
Like a lover who
wanders I return here to
check in now and them
J9 can’t sleep since
her mother died stays up and
writes heartache in tears.
Today J begins
flying not yet a driver
the sky’s the limit
They walk the carpet.
We eat takeout Chinese and
scream for our favorites.
TV morphs into
loser land infomercials
for acne weight loss
Handful of turquoise
begs to be strung with silver
draped around my neck.
The Director’s Cut
in her hands M reads snuggled
with her Uglydoll.
Crashed. Met Tailies. Then
Others. Hatch blew up. Kate caged.
Got Lost about there.
Reality makes
me sick. Going through laugh track
cop show withdrawal.
Speed-viewing seasons
one through three’s like life in the
hatch. Push the button.
I stop posting in
the blogosphere. No one reads
me. Do I exist?
Intention shines high
above like a star I see
and dream of reaching.
Wind chimes jangle in
the breeze. Nature’s alarm clock
saying, “Go to sleep.”
My fingers talk my
eyes listen my head makes it
up my heart hungers.
Fat balls of yarn crowd
my home like clawless kittens,
needling me to start.
Sometimes, the hunger
that compels you to eat a
cookie is sadness.
Soldiers wear helmets.
Women wear makeup, styled hair.
Our mode of defense.
Could I love you if
we did not touch, if I did
not mark you as mine?
The house of my heart
is white, clean, pure. No windows,
doors. No visitors.
TV’s “Fisherman
and His Wife” story for our
times. Unalloyed greed.
“She hurt my daughter,
so I wanted to hurt her.
Can’t you understand?“
Viriconium,
Gormenghast, Majipoor. Dark
journeys. Twisted dreams.
On weigh-in day I’d
inhale helium if it
would make me lighter.
She’d buy Free People,
match and mismatch carelessly,
revel in oddball.
J’s Pied Piper calls.
Mecca of offbeat fashion,
she shops in a daze.
They create out of
nothing whole scenes, entertain
from mere suggestions.
My daughters watch the
Gilmour Girls non-stop, wishing
I were Lorelei.
HGTV shows
designer homes while I nest
in my own clutter.
I keep coming to
post like a lover checking
for text messages.
He made Johnny Depp
a household name, and keeps Hot
Topic in business.