Romantic Poet Sick to Death of the Muse

Verily I have been lax with you 
Of late I know, but I swear 
Over the graves of my venerable 
Forebearers I will be lax no more— 

The next time I hear you 
Whistling in time to the lullaby 
Of bombs dropping softly 
Into laps of babes 

I shall drop everything, 
Drop straight to my knees 
And—dare I say it?— 
Pray you call no more. 

Skid Row Tenement House Rotgut

So rotten the rickety flight 
Of stairs you had to hold 
Your breath and nose all 

The way ending 
Up stinking drunk 
On the bum 

On the ground 
Floor landing up 
Side down. 

Downtown Sidewalk after Deluge

Scum all 
Washed away— 

Cement scrubbed so 
Clean urchins soak 

Up hopscotch 
On it night and day. 

Concupiscent Sirens

Oh most baffled 
Of bedeviled public 
Men, should you chance 
To come upon a ship 

Stranded miraculously 
On top of a mountain, think 
Out of the box, do not be 
Dumbfounded, do not founder 

In the maelstrom 
Of male stupidity, it’s clear 
As that insistent throbbing 
In your dimwitted heads— 

A woman’s lone pubic 
Hair has dragged it there! 

Food for Thought

Grit your teeth on this 
Piece of homily, ‘Murica— 
Just so 

You can squeal 
Your piggy little hearts out, 
Once we have the elections 

In the bag, you’ll be free 
To skedaddle out 
Of the poke unfettered 

And amble in 
To the nearest Salvation 
Army melting pot. 

2016 U.S. Presidential Candidates Enunciating the Question of Poverty in America

1. Hillary Clinton: 

“For once and for all 
For crying out loud, 

Tell me what 
You want?” 

2. Donald Trump: 

“For crying 
Out loud, tell me 

Once and for all 
What—YOU WANT?!” 

Blind Patriotism

In brief it is 
When you see what 
You don’t want 
To see—say bombs 
Bursting in air over 
The land of the free— 
And still you believe 
You’re seeing things. 

Narcissist on the Shores of Lake Placid

Smoothie, spill but

One drop of oil on
To the surface

And watch it
Disperse it

Self in the firmament. 





 

Sickle in Abeyance

Tilted to the right, 
The red-orange crescent 
Moon suspended just 
Above the twilit 
Western horizon seems 

(If one is so inclined) 

To be sending a signal 
For us to hurry and set 
Our house in order 
In order to fully reap 
Our rightful bounty 

And get out of tilt forever. 

Old Country Derelicts Gone Fishing: Raymond, Washington, ca 1950

On the stinking mud 
Flats of the Willapa, 

Old houseboats inhabited 
By leaky old men once 

Forever young.