Her Mama Done Told Her

The quickest way to his heart 
Was through his stomach 

But she garbled the message, 
Peeled, and sliced his 

Adam’s apple instead. 

Bankrupt Wordsmith Soon To Be Back In Business

Out of the thick dark- 
Green blackness of vegetable 
Life smothering the derelict 
Study of the late obscure 
Minor underground poet, 
There comes the fevered 
Munching of eager beaver 
Ghost writers rabidly attacking 
A bolted, worm-eaten door. 

The Squint-eyed Kid Strikes (Out) Again

Sun, it’s time you stopped 
Playing with me—how 
On earth am I 

To reflect on all 
That’s under the heavens 
When you’re always on the run? 

Gullible Masochistic Supplicant Beseeches Imagist Muse

My unerring, yea, insouciant 
Lady, should you deem it fit 
To kill me with a panoply 
Of words cutting 

To the heart, please 
Please with your leave
Before I depart, let me see 
How they all hit the mark. 

But For The Grace Of God: Making America Great Again

If it’s true that 
Time waits 

For no man, yet 
Neither does it 

Stand still, caught 
As we are 

In such a debilitating 
Conundrum 

And drained of any 
Feasible exit plan, 

It’s not unreasonable to expect 
The great unwashed will 

Opt for the next up-and-coming 
Maelstrom to suck the whole 

Godforsaken kit and caboodle 
Down, down, down to where 

Everything settles in
To the muck 

Of just being there.