THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads--d'Verse Poets Pub

Your all day eyes
Sunday surprise
I've been livin' under the guise
of something loosely deemed 
human
for oh so long

It's time to break out
show you what I'm all about
the monster lurks within
poised to destroy Tokyo
one more time
and eat your head
just a snack before bed

Scoop me up a slice of dat will ya?
that's it...warm apple a la
American Pie
I'm the second coming
of Little Jack

In my day we questioned 
authority
but we never questioned 
who we were 
somehow we just knew
(we were grounded)
these fundamental questions 
are up in the air now
like the balls you'd always see
the jugglers tossing on Ed Sullivan
now you see them
now you don't

snip snip

If I told you I was Godzilla
would you give me
all your loving support...
no questions asked?

A COBBLESTONE STREET IN CANNES

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

I know you thought
that last one was weird
and I could see you
sitting there saying:
Geez, I hope he doesn't 
make this a habit
cuz he was obviously
high when he wrote it!

(I just had to laugh)

When all your angels
have retired and given
up the ghost and you're
out there on your own
existential limb
teetering in the wind
you'll simply tell it as it is
with increasing alacrity

all good people deplore
problems at a distance

appalled by what the
unenlightened inflict
upon each other
(but at a distance)

the power disparity
inherent in all relationships
whether they be between
individuals or groups of
individuals sows the
seeds of abuse

and here's the thing
about Armageddon......

there won't be any time to
look back and ask
what went wrong
when your ass is
high-tailing it for the hills

(jump cut)

If I had my druthers
I'd be walking down
a cobblestone street in Cannes
a few paces behind Brigitte Bardot
whose butt is wiggling like
a sack of Yukon Gold potatoes
in her bright white short shorts
and yes I will take that year
whatever it is to inhabit
like a hermit crab
for all time

The person caught in any
moment in time is
frozen in that moment
because that is his moment
then a much older person
who is caught in his moment
and will forever be comes
along and has the audacity
to claim that he is the same
person as that whippersnapper
from long ago...

identity theft on a global scale

and God said to the monk of 57 years:
You know you could have done
whatever the hell you wanted--
I'm not a prude!

but whatever it is
make it good 
'cause time steals away
like a whore 
from your bedside
at 5 a.m.
and the world 
is made of yesterdays

THE CREATURE THAT YOU WERE

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

I was watching this movie 
from 50 years ago 1969
two young men on a road trip
through Italy and a girl 
they pick up (Charlotte Rampling-
always an intriguing presence)
I was haunted by a couple of pigeons
who got a brief cameo to ruffle
their feathers and then they were 
gone but they existed! 
and for a moment I honored
their presence in this world 
they lived they died
they had pigeon adventures and
difficulties like anyone...

This shit's been going on forever
and you were there

How foolish it may be to say
this is me and this was my life
dating back to ???
you're not the same creature you were
then and no one would confuse
the "you" back then with this thing
you've now become (sorry-just reflecting
on my own state of being) 
did those pigeons ever
think about emerging from the shell and 
say oh look that was me...how cute
don't think so they knew exactly
who they were at every stage of the game
so you see a connecting thread simply because
you can remember events from that other
person's life and current events of your own
I tell you don't reflect upon that person's life
they are forever young...  you are
forever old and disgusting...
if your mind opened up you'd remember
it ALL and where would that continuity
the singular life thread that you cling to so 
obsessively now be then...

Pigeon poop in the wind

LONG WINTER'S NIGHT

 Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

Should I sleep in my clothes again

or does it matter to anyone but me?

(Oh, there's crumbs in my beard...

maybe tomorrow I'll brush them out.)

There are nights when the fog rolls in

so heavy that the pale light of your lantern

won't begin to cut a path forward.

And you haven't got a dog

you haven't got a woman

and you just ran out of beer.

What is dead is restless

and you've rescued no one.

That portends a long winter's night

and summer has just begun.

 I'll leave the window cracked a bit

in case there are ghosts who want

to slip in to hurl their final accusations.

Then I will sleep

and close my eyes

to everything that dies.