Tuesday, September 20, 2016


over at da Wally store
da peeps dey waddle in
an' den dey waddle out
an' dat just de employees
cuz everybody fat
in America
fatter den me big fat cat
in America

everybody eat good
in America
compare to where me come from
where many say: "Food? What is dat?"

in America me see dis guy on tv
he cram down seventy hot dogs
just to set some kind of record
yeah, me REALLY see dat

where me come from
dey would call dat obscene

but it okay in America
where all da fat cats be gettin' fatter
fatter den me big fat cat
in America

don't get me wrong, friend
me mean no disrespect
cuz you are da new normal
an' me just a skinny guy
who feel like he don't fit in

wish me had some meat
on me bones like dat
cuz den me could wear all black
an' turn me baseball cap around on me head

maybe if me stuffs down
seventy hot dogs
each an' every day


'scuse me, friend
but me feelin' sick now 

Tuesday, September 6, 2016


the only thing he can say for sure
the only thing the irrefutable evidence points to
is that she loves wandering
more than any person, place, or thing

and anyone who wishes to curry favor with her
must first scroll to read the terms and conditions 
and click on I accept before proceeding

it just goes with the territory
or province
where she may materialize
at any particular time

in between

she's a caged cat
pacing back and forth
back and forth

he's happy he gets to rock
her Gypsy soul on occasion
making sweet hot music together
(one ear invariably cocked
for the sound of distant drums)

long past remembering
what she's running to
or running from

soon she'll be coiled tightly again
ready to spring for glimmering stars
though they're only in her eyes

so near
yet so far away

Thursday, August 25, 2016


Outside my window
the raven beckons
to follow him again
as in that kingdom far away
in a time when hoods
of muslin saved our sight
from the diamond in his eye
that blazed like a thousand suns

And wasn't it you
who told me that love
is like a banana
you've got to peel away
the facade

And wasn't it you I saw
seething inside your skin
at the Metropolitan Opera

Grunting like a pig
when the fat lady sang
hooting from the balcony
like a Portuguese pimp
a break with tradition to be sure
running amok till they pinned you down
inside the ladies room

Tempest in a pisspot

And isn't that Miz Chauncey Lee L'Amour
sitting right over there
sucking on her
mint julep
trading tales of the good ol' days
when men were men
and women were horses
and giddyup ol' paint
was the prelude to a kiss

Her entourage
of the rouged and the wrinkled
hanging on her every word
well aware that most men in America
in this year of the locust
in this decade of the plague
would rather be sniffing
through the long abandoned ruins
of an old haunt
than to give up the ghost
to some baby-faced whore

And now my old friend the raven
has moved to Baltimore
where he works as a squeegee man
on certain odd numbered holidays
and plays the guitar
with Eric Clapton
and sometimes Charlie Byrd
while all the sweet young things chant

But well you know
the whole world's a stage
that you're going through
just to get to someplace else
and though they stomp and shout
for another encore
quoth the raven: Ain't no more!

It was a lively time
says Miz Chauncey Lee L'Amour
well aware that most men in America
take their pants off one leg at a time
all grist for a story of some kind
and you know dahling
you really should write it

Tuesday, August 23, 2016


No one is crazy
about a poem
that goes on
and on
and on
and on
and on 
and on 
and on
and so on
(you gotta get out there and slop the pigs!)

A poem should be
like a good fight with your girlfriend. 

Say it succinctly

have it mean something
make it feel like a stab in the heart
and get out of there.

Come back later.

Approach cautiously

and take a peek
to see if "she" still looks friendly.

Then dress her up a little

and get ready
for her big debut with your friends!

Tuesday, August 16, 2016


Nature procreates
with no regard for the numbers
or the consequences.
I know some peeps like that too.

Bathing in their own pious disregard--
the stink of the river still on them,
as Gaia's icy tears
cascade into the sea.

And I thought I heard her whisper:
There's only one of me...
and far too many of you.

Wednesday, August 10, 2016


When I reach the end
 of that road
I'll be like some of those old cars
I used to drive around
held together by chewing gum
and bailing wire
an old beater
(I know what you're thinkin')
limpin' along
chokin' and coughin' and splutterin'
(but never  out of "gas")
destined for some boneyard
to be gutted for spare parts

Tuesday, August 2, 2016


They slip by

day by 

day by 


that is life's little trick
as you're not supposed to notice
till one day you glance in the mirror
and reel back in HORROR
then you hear somebody laughing
you can't see them
but that is LIFE
getting such a kick out of
pulling that shit
on some hapless sonofabitch
once again

Friday, June 17, 2016


You remember the wild west
where everybody was a gunslinger
and when the bad guys came to town
an armed citizenry had some
recourse to deal with 'em

I had a vision
of a new America
much like the old America
where east is west
and west is west
in the new wild west

Where pistol packin' mamas
are toting something more than lipstick
and Tic Tacs in their bag--
and they know how to use it

Cuz a shootout
is better than a massacre
any day

Or would you rather be fish in a barrel?

You know as well as I
that day is comin'
there'll be no more debate
just a throwback to a simpler time
when men were men
and women were Miss Kitty
and the cathouse
is right down the street

So sidle up to the bar, boys
and get yer whiskey
and learn how to down it
in one swallow

Cuz a shootout is better
than a massacre
any day

Or would you rather be fish in a barrel?

I had a vision of a new America
where necessity
becomes the mother of invention

Where zombies roam among the populace
programmed for apocalypse
(they're already here)
and they have to be taken out
you've seen the movie--
we gotta take 'em out

Cuz a shootout is better
than a massacre
any day

Or would you STILL just rather be fish in a barrel???


Saturday, June 4, 2016


Dem goddamn blueberries when dey fall
when dey fall...

Dad deserves the best--get him some new
jockey shorts, but beware--he'll be pissed
if they're a size too small,
so sneak into his room when he's sleeping
with a tape measure.

Dem blueberries when dey tumble
off da 'frigerator shelf...

I confess what I've had bottled up inside me
for all this time is that...
goddamned Santa Claus,
he never brought me NUTHIN' I really liked.

(Would you believe I had a mild form of
Tourette's--"Saint Vitus Dance" they used to call it--
which I mostly kept under control,
or do you think I might just say that as an attempt
to explain, legitimize, or justify my poetry? )

Goddamned Santa Claus.

And dem blueberries when dey hit da floor
dey don't spill all over da place like before--
maybe my luck is changin'

At any rate, we musn't rush.
We lose GRACE when we rush--
like all the ungainly people
running to catch the bus.

But dad deserves the best, you know.
Every dad has his day
and his is comin' up.

The only lasting things he taught me were the phrases:
You talk like a woman with a paper butthole
Ya don't know shit from apple butter
and he was a linguistics professor too...

Goddamn blueberries.
(They've fallen and they can't get up.)

Santa tumbling head-first down da chimney.

We all
headed for a fall

So until that ungainly
ungodly day
git your back up off da wall
and DANCE!!!

(Do tics fit the description?)

Tuesday, May 31, 2016

A SHORT PLAY...ON WORDS (or "Eat Shit And Die")

                       THE SCENE: A fast food drive-through somewhere in                                                                    middle America                        


                      SHE: A young female order taker
                      HE: A male customer who has just pulled up to the intercom                                                  

SHE: Hello, and welcome to SHITBURGER. How may I help you?

HE: Uh... I guess I'll have a SHITBURGER with everything on it.

SHE: You want the works on that, you say?

HE: I think...what kind of shit does that come with?

SHE: Oh, there's all kinds of shit on there, sir....a real load. I think you'll     enjoy it.

HE: Okay, then, I'll give that a try. Never had a SHITBURGER before, but my girlfriend strongly recommended that I eat some...

SHE: Oh yes, we get a lot of referrals that way. Mostly men. 

HE: So these burgers are good, eh?  I admire that you are up front in your advertising about the ingredients. That seems to be rare these days.

SHE: Well, sir, that was an easy decision. Our research indicates that most people don't give a shit what's in it, as long as it tastes good. And we've devised a way to make shit absolutely DELICIOUS!

HE: No accounting for taste, as they say!

SHE: Ha ha...that's right, sir.

HE: Your prices are really good.

SHE: Yes, they are...we make shit affordable...and addictive!

HE: Right...uh, what other shit do you have to go with that?

SHE: There's our curly fries...deep fried...

HE: Sounds delicious.

SHE : Deep fried in some deep shit.

HE :All right...I'll take the curly fries too.

SHE: Guaranteed to curl your toes. Would you like something to drink with that?

HE: I see that your BIG PISS cup is a full sixteen ounces for only fifty-nine cents!

SHE: Yes... it's full of piss, but with all the high fructose corn syrup in there, you'll never notice the difference.

HE: YAHOO! Looks like I'm all set.

SHE: Please pull up to the window then, sir,  and thank you for choosing SHITBURGER. Have a crappy day!

HE: Ha doubt about it. No doubt at all!!!