How Not To Lay An Egg

Pure poetry I tell you— 
How deftly 

Weasels slit the throats 
Of brooding sleeping hens— 

Never a need for needless 
Revision again.

Now On The Silver Screen, Pixamax Productions Proudly Presents "The Bigly Bang-up Sixties"!

Where

The meanest gang in town 
Was getting pretty itchy 
As they unhitched 

Those dazzling diamond- 
Studded belts, the newest 
Comer on the scene was made 

To hitch up 
That oh so come-on skirt 
Above her comely head, 

Above that heavenly body 
The stars 

Exploded one by one, 
Four studs literally 
Dropped dead— 

Mum’s the word, 
Everybody said. 

Refining Further The Fine Art of Artful Confession

Running away from what you know 
You must say, don’t you always 

Skip over that failing in a jiffy, 
Hoping it will forever go away, 

And then backtrack over what 
You didn’t say, thinking never 

To do it again, 
Come what may? 

Wind Song: An Epitaph For Lorine Niedecker

There’s a livelier sheen on the dead 
Leaves of autumn than in a dullard’s 
Air and oft Lorine had seen it there. 

Quintessentially Human Defense Mechanism

That small 
Black-and-white 
Cur curled up 
Like a cinnamon 
Roll on a thread- 
Bare throw rug in 

Front of this 
Baker’s doorway 
Day and night come 
Rain, sleet or snow, 
Don’t tell me that 
He’s not like 

All those other poor 
Souls you think don’t 
Know any better than 
To come in from 
The cold—he doesn’t 
Know that.