Amelioration of the Sixth Extinction

Dear Dr. Paul E. Annaish, 
Blithe spirit par excellence 

In a world of encroaching 
Darkness, please note 

All of us are dying 
To read 

Your prescription 
On how to stave off 

The demise of what 
A lot of us like 

To call the light— 
But please 

Write your Rx legibly, 
We don’t want to go blindly 

Ignorant into the all- 
Knowing night. 

Black Friday Sellout

All you white 
Slaves and pimps

Of merchandise 
And other motley

Bags of whatnots,
It's bad

Enough buying 
A lie but 

What if you think 
You’ve got the goods 

On the store when 
The store knows 

You’ve been sold 
Down the river? 

Monstrous Issue

Let us learn by heart the bloodline 
Of our descent into hell— 

We are all descended from flesh-
Eating apes armed with bludgeons. 

That should start us off well. 

Justice of a Disturbing Peace

Before it all comes crashing 
Down on your stiff upper lips, 
Listen up, ladies and gentlemen— 

It’s a case of when the once outspoken, 
Wrongly defamed “rabble” are unable 
To rouse themselves from the rubble

Of the deaf-mute derelicts 
They’ve so wittingly become. 

Autumnal Illusion

Butterfly a 
Lighting on 
Dazzling 

Colorful 
Printed 
Towel— 

Opening and closing 
Its wings, thinking 
It’s settled 

On a flower. 

American Horror Story

In the end 
We have no choice but 
To examine the horrific 

Possibility of what is 
Actually out there was 
Virtually everywhere 

Inside us. 

Anthem: America Out On A Limb

Do not be crestfallen, 
A mere leaf trembling 
In a mean wind; 

You were made 
For higher things 
Stirring underground, 

Compose yourself 
For what is about 
To begin. 

Symplegades: Bottom Line on the 2016 US Presidential Election

For want of a fanciful dove, 
The plumb bob snapped just 

As the ship of fools was caught 
Between two black clashing rocks

And in truth now lies
Broken at the bottom. 


 

Chainlink Fences

—for John Levy 


Who writes in a poem 
About a drawing 
About why he liked them 
As a child so swell 
And subdued 

We can well imagine 
Climbing up them even 
If our feet are too large 
And we too big 
For our britches.

Abandoned Barbecue

Long past its prime, 
This corroded 
Iron barrel cut length- 
Wise in half, whose 
Bottom was once 
Covered under a light 
Shovelful of topsoil, 
And over which 
A bed of hot char- 
Coals crackled, 
Searing dandy cuts 
Of tender, grass-fed beef 
Whenever the occasion 
To surfeit called for it, 
Now sprouts 
A generous helping 
Of organic dandelions— 

But do not fret, friends 
For old times’ sake, 
Let’s pretend we’re eating 
Our blooming hearts out.