Sunday, November 24, 2013
toads and princesses
the boasts of toads:
lust takes them into traffic
-and leveling consequences.
unless they somehow find
the miracle road, hit split
aces with a pair of jacks.
i'm familiar with that track
though i seldom win at cards,
i kept looking for the princess
in the deck, between
the aces and the clubs
as if april followed november
just a clown at the microphone
hoping for a warm deceleration
in the pace of time, because
enough yes is rare,
some effort is required,
some thoughts to spare
in this dim room full of guzzlers
ordering another round
of easy deception,
with chasers laced with
sunny paradises
unlikely to be found.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
the taste and the touch of the song
i know that song,
the one about angels
the one about marching and guns
the one about lovers unreachable
the one about days in the sun
then i say cicadas and you cry
all the places where memory attaches
like the lightest touch of lips on eyelashes
there can be no such thing
as stolen fruit, no crime in picking,
or it wouldn't be so sweet
the scent and the color sing:
eat me.
Friday, November 22, 2013
Public Notice
The Society for the Preservation
of phone books, polar bears
and studebakers.
glaciers, frogs.
cursive script.
and privacy.
Meetings on the last
Friday of each month
8 p.m.
in the Chernobyl room
at the Exxon Mobil Community Center
coffee and cockroach upside down cake
will be served.
BYO water filter and jugs,
Costco Battalion 59
has promised to provide
300 gallons of semi-purified
gray water, limit two gallons
per person please.
Glaxo Smith Kline
has also generously
a small supply of
generic oxycontin,
first come, first served
Thursday, November 21, 2013
fashionosaurus rex
the new uniforms
came in today
and i'm happy to say
the gloves fit my claws
perfectly.
wired for targeting,
restaurants and lodging,
tweeting and augmented
stalking. car payments
slaughter house menus
and drones.
cool feature:
tunes auto-selected
to sync with my pulse!
and the spikes!
sharp as the thorns
on a cactus
perfect for storing
a sparrow or two
shish ka-birds
on the go.
totally integrated systems
are the future
for the modern CEO.
the vacation
hannibal smith
sold elephant shoes
and anteater hats
to tourists from kansas
down at the wharf.
-just like the zoo!
or republican
wife swapping parties
no one need know
what you've done
just blame it on ozone
or jet lag, funny
mushrooms they put
in the food at the hyatt?
back home,
it's just the vapor
behind the curtain,
the studio lights
and microphone,
the script:
fear and fluff and
weather delivered
with shining hair
and teeth. the camouflage
of power ties and cleavage,
up-to-date wrecks and rain,
feeding on tears
and celebration
all the scandals
and vandals,
and puppies!
cuddled not fried.
the barbarian binge
left behind with a generous tip
for the maid, insurance
to keep her from blabbing.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
gypsy
she said
-i'll give you mars for a nickel,
you can retire that itch
from the street.
it's scorpion month,
so i'll give you
the others for free.
my neighbors are just,
white sightless crawfish
crawling on the bones
of the men who vanished
in the embers circled by stones.
they gorged
on the violins' tears
caught in the orbit i conjured
with flying silk and floating hair,
remembering:
other camps other fires other songs
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
gone fishing
rod and a bucket in hand, canvas hat;
the halibut seeker
crosses battery street
on tuesdays and fridays.
the doorway men sleep on cardboard
and cradle their forty-ounce colt 45's
the parrots are screaming in sue bierman park,
the software developer people gossip and gawk,
talking up schemes for embarrassing moments
at the karaoke night planned for the evening.
fisherman walks straight ahead, they don't see him,
they swivel and stare at a girl wearing high-heeled boots
when she slips on a patch of wet leaves
and flashes a glimpse of her victoria's secret.
the parrots dive on a pigeon and squabble over the stump
of a half-eaten bagel -noah's best- on the sidewalk.
the fisherman reaches the dock and rigs up his rod,
today might be lucky, if so,
he'll be in good company
with the red-tailed hawk
riding the updrafts on the face of the tower,
who likes to eat squab on tuesdays and fridays.
Monday, November 18, 2013
sputnik
when chrome was chrome
the meteors cried.
when sputnik winked
and pierced the heart
of cassiopeia,
we sat in the johnson grass
and smelled the sand.
waiting. too late. no beep.
the silver orb had burned up
months before.
we sang:
it was a one-eyed one-horned
flying purple people eater
instead.
chased fireflies.
picked june bugs off the screen door.
spit watermelon seeds at each other.
shrieked.
ran beyond the reach of light.
and stopped.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
flatland
Thursday, November 14, 2013
how to spoil a plot
your vacuum cleaner is plotting
with the dishwasher, saving all the dirt
hiding under the bed,
the gin dregs in your tumblers,
sharing all of it with the toaster
who was never able to keep secrets.
so now the couch and carpet know
and they're laughing as they pass it on
to your neighbor's dog.
who tells the goldfish and the towels.
it's all recorded. on the radio of your car
from where it's transmitted
through the underground network
of powerlines and water pipes.
only the sewers declined
to participate in the scheme.
so you do at least have the comfort
that your shit is safe. for now.
i understand the phone company
is working with the government
to tap into that mess. this might affect
your credit rating and taxes.
divorce is not uncommon in these cases
or worse. beware. if your guns
are talking to your spouse's cellphone
in the wee hours of the night,
you might not be breathing
when your alarm clock goes off at six.
there are precautions you can take,
in the evening, before you go to bed
sneak up on your television,
be sure it doesn't see you, because
the schemes get hatched
while you are presumably asleep.
so if you slip into the room unseen
and quietly pull the plug,
the conspirators will have to rely
on dixie cups and string.
and those are really easy
to intercept. just get your own
piece of string and paper cup,
tie in along the line, and presto,
you're as good as uncle sam
peeking in the windows
of baton twirlers, used car salesmen
plumbers, waitresses and cabbies.
always protect yourself with foil! it may be
old fashioned, but it's always worked for me.
epitaph
the tombstone was a piece
of broken sidewalk
in a patch of california poppies
a neon purple spray paint epitaph:
his soul is with the dandelions
and the stardust and the bones
of pterodactyls now, soaring over
the naked stones of cities
where he once roamed
with one eye on the traffic
and the other on the girls.
he should have kept both
eyes on the limousine
with the driver on the phone,
he'd still be here
outside the starbuck's
selling songs and poems
to mom and pop from fresno
here to eat some crab
and score some souvenirs:
bobble head dolls
and bumper stickers,
mementos to take home.
he didn't though,
so now he's gone,
buried under a slab
of concrete scavenged
from the site of where
the latest street was torn up
to replace a leaking
gas line pipe. his girlfriend
from the gift shop
goes out to his grave
every week or two
with a bag of plastic figurines:
dinosaurs and saints,
baseball heroes
and racecars,
whatever she can swipe
when the asshole manager
gets distracted playing
shooter games on his phone.
the allosaurus rides a harley
the shortstop hugs the virgin mary
hello kitty wears a crown
of shooting stars and poppies
and the shopgirl croons
sweet idiot, where are you now?
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
bobby and jacqui
jacqui puts on her two a.m. smile
at one in the afternoon.
bobby has the gleam
of a salesman
before the ink has dried
on the dotted line.
they order coffees
and find a seat,
the software deemed
that it was time to meet.
they touch hands, make plans,
and shiver in sync.
expand, share dreams,
arrange to follow
each others tweets.
hiking and cycling,
movies and beach,
sharing fires and books,
they're on the same network,
gone for the same hooks.
the milky sky outside
reeks of scorched steel
but he's only aware of her eyes
and the hair she's got twisted
round her finger. and jaqui
can't keep from staring
at the dimples that form
on his cheeks every time
his smile is born.
they decide,
it's too nice a day
to linger inside.
better instead
to walk hand in hand
beneath the swaying palms
of anchorage.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
'king time
once i saw a circus
made of toothpicks,
built by a man
with a lot of years
and toothpicks on his hands.
is that
the pit
that must be filled?
with words or chemicals?
with bodies, ball games, work.
art.
anything at all
in place of love.
other men made knives
from melted combs
or smuggled spoons.
swapped for lucky strikes
or favors. the anger
locked behind the bars
with seven books,
one thin pillow,
a mirror, a dream,
and extra underwear.
perhaps a space
for god.
right beside
the comic books
and dog-eared
dictionary.
Saturday, November 9, 2013
goldilocks
i saw goldilocks through
a telescope. a hundred power.
and she looked back
with just her naked hazel eyes
i thought she was younger
but now it seems she's not.
she had a child, who left.
said goodbye in a note
penciled on the bottom
of next week's shopping list.
i put another quarter
in the telescope
and search again. there.
she sits on a bench
at the bus stop, loose-leggedly
leaned back against the back
and turns in my direction
once more, as if she sees
my hand twisting the dial
a mile away. she does.
holds up her left hand
where a dull pink scar
takes the place of gold.
she folds down the pinkie,
the index, and the ring-scared
one and stabs the last one
up and down. smiles sweetly
and spits with gusto into the street.
is that for me?
i point at myself,
as if she can see me
without a telescope of her own.
again she smiles and nods.
i don't understand it.
i haven't eaten her porridge
or taken her bed, never even
seen her before climbing
up this spire. it must be
some kind of invisible enemy
the man who put that child in her
or a cruel mother. not like her.
she loved her son.
in spite of all the spite he'd flung
before he left. just like his father.
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