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



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