Absconding With The Goods

No real damage done 
And no caveat, save that 

Of coming clean 

With the poem, the spoils 
Intact. 

"And Beautiful Times We Had"*

—*Sappho, from poem #94 


We were young and not 
Yet old enough to know 

When black wolves start 
Descending 

The white mountain 
Slopes in early spring, 

It’s too late to lie 
In wait, low 

In the valley still 
Acting like sheep.

All That Jazz, And Slam Poetry, Too

Hey, man— 

You be cool now and don’t 
Be such a drag—I tell you this 

Ain’t no waste of our time—no way— 
You just take another toke and look back

At what all those wiped out long gone 
Hepcats that came before us done 

Drug in. 

Four-eyed Doppelgänger Before The Treacherous Looking Glass

The last time 
You looked, you looked 
Twice and kept 
Rubbing your eyes 
At the spectacle 
Of seeing

For the first time 
An aging 
Sold out poet
Seeing his 
Younger double
Crossing double.

Metallic Elephantine Yarn Full Of Medallions

The verdict’s out
At last, you fools—

The moon’s ravishing
Green cheesecake

Now belongs fully
To those bright yellow

Jawing dervishes who keep
Insisting they live on

A glorious whirling
Silver platter replete

With leftover wishbones
Riven from the heads

Of bloody adjudicating asses.