Digesting Grotesque Humble Pie

Such avian crust! 
Who would’ve thought 

Those four-and-twenty 
Blackguarding black- 

Birds of a feather popping 
Their prominent peckers out 

Of that ravishing, 
Inimitable dish 

Set down before you would 
Soon be laughing 

Their heads off watching 
You eat legendary 

Crow after crow 
After crow 

Without—heavens to Betsy— 
Even once burping!

Memory Flash Feat

A faint blackish stick 

Figure falling through 
A landscape 

Of frosty grey- 
White fuzzy 

Matter that has opened 
Up right 

Under its feet 
And swallows

It whole. 

Not-so-intrepid Moon Stalkers On The Verge Of Rising To The Occasion

We knew the moon was close 
To going full 

Circle and was more 
Than ripe to show 

Its face above 
The steep dark 

Hulks 

Of the mountains 
Fringing our hollow, 

To spill its lunatic light 
And illuminate whatever 

It was that kept hiding it- 
Self in the recesses 

Even in broad daylight— 
Who knows? If only we could 

Rise a little higher, we might 
Catch a glimpse of it too, 

One of these nights.

At Madam Starbucks, The Medium Is The Massage

I have to tell you 
Unsettling news— 
The signs left 
On the bottom 

Of the gilt-edged 
Cup you thought would 
Runneth forever over
No longer show the least 

Stirrings of life, I fear you must 
Fall to your hands and knees 
And resuscitate your old friend
Joe, you need him 

More than ever right now. 

 

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.