Truth's Like a Fly Swatter

Cross my heart, hope to die— 
It looks like they’re droppings

Of flies, the eschatological 
Ephemera of poets who swear

Their shit will last and not 
Stink to high heaven forever— 

Though from where I sit, 
It all smells a little too much

Like a downright rotten white lie. 

Silver Linings Playbook

when storm clouds scud 
your way, the sun does not 
up and check out— 
it stays there 

high above the weather, 
looking out the window 
of your world, saving 
for a rainy day. 

Ex Libris Vazambam

With all the time in the world 
At nine months short of three, 
My granddaughter tells me 
She’s going to follow 
In my footsteps and read 
All the books in my library. 

Looking back at how 
Haplessly I fell 
Short of that goal, I do hope 
She doesn’t take after me— 
For better or worse, 
Let my feat remain 

No small consolation 
I won’t be round to see. 

Faux News on the Air (In Cracker Boxes Everywhere)

No more pussyfooting round— 

(I tell you the news is right) 
There in front of you

(Inglorious color) 
And not in black,

(Just white), like 
You folks like it so 

(Get cracking, right?)

"I Found My Thrill"

I remember his 
Last words as he sped 
Down Memory Lane, 

His blueberry eyes rolled 
Back up all the way to where 
The moon stood patiently still.