Shall We Gather By The Ditch, Pilgrims

Don’t ask from on high

Where your next

Poem’s coming from,

Muddled ones, just look

To where it’s going

To let you down

Next.

Twittering Over The Moon

Guess who

Can rip off the IRS
In broad day-

Light, streak stark-
Naked with Ben

Franklin bills flying out
His puckered rear down

Constitution Avenue
Past cop a plea cop

Station after station
Before returning

To roost in
His freaked-out white-

Washed room free
As a flipping bird

To twitter—all the while
His brooding

Fledglings waiting
In the wings

To find themselves
Mooning over

Their favorite
Lunatic again.

Squatters' Blue Window Shutters

creaking derelict refrain
giving us no quarter—

angry jalousies o-
pening and clo-

sing in a bitter wind,
giving us away

again and again.

Minor Minimalist Poet's Major Prognostication

No whys or ifs about it—
It really is a small world full
Of big disappointments where
We’ll end up trashing
The little talent we have
Writing garbage we think
Expansive enough to fill it.

Sappho Encomium Honey

None so highly revered 
As she amongst us peace 

Loving women whenever 
She took up her lyre and all 

Rude rowdy creatures drew 
Back into silence so sweet it was 

As balm to our oft offended ears.