Supplicant

High above the ruins
Of Ancient Messene
And below the lone village restaurant,
There is a haggard dog chained
To a large, earthenware jar.

His view of this once-rich
City is indeed magnificent, truly
Uplifting to the spirit, but
As he knows it by heart,
He prefers to sit on his haunches

And turn his back on it,
Looking up instead for any sign
Of the bones he prays the gods
Might find it in their hearts
To throw down to him.

My Friend Tree

Lorine,

I thought it was
the wind,

and turned in time
to see

leaf after leaf falling
between

my friend and me.

Alexander Meets Diogenes

gone to the dogs all right
and cynical a cur as any he knew
this purebred jackanapes blocking his sun
light would soon find his ass jumping
through hoops clearly over a barrel.

Hammering out a Definition of "Queer Voice"

--for Kenny Goldsmith

Don't throw a fit, egghead
If the hammer doesn’t fit,

Take everything down
And fit it all on the head

Of a roiling pinhead.


(My thanks to Joseph Hutchison for providing the initial impetus here.)

Poem

This scythe that cuts
Its swath through space

Of unremitting air, see it
Does not stop its wishing

To hesitate there.