In Lieu of a New Year's Poem

Oh, dear— 

Hard to find 
Something new 

To write about 
Each coming year 

When it grows old and dear 
And goes before you 

Come to know it, dear. 

Bottom Line

I will meet you halfway 
If that is what you want, 

But please don’t ask me 
To decide for you. 

The Buffalos and Billy the Kid: Raymond, Washington, circa 1951

Sharp shooting pin- 
Ball wizards shoot 

Wads of nickels 
Into bellies 

Of blinking beasts, 
Then mosey on up- 

Stairs to vanishing 
Breed of past 

Prime whores still 
Alive but barely 

Kicking on dying First Street— 
Saloon’s mascot urchin 

Gets down on all fours 
Under Ballys— 

Has more than a hunch 
A few stray buffalo heads
 
Have yet to bite the dust. 

Bleeding Heart Haiku

Go on—bloody cry; 
Your heart hasn’t run out yet— 

Give it one more try. 

Reverse Arrested Development

Why is it 

My three-year-old 
Granddaughter can 
Entertain herself 

For hours on end 
With nothing save her 
Imagination when 

I try musing with that idea 
I end up with nothing 
But a dead end. 

Flesh Wound

look again— 


nothing too 

superficial— 


how even this small 

sliver working it- 


self out 

has to 


heal. 

Troubling Inner Sanctum

Call me 
Quasimodo if you want, 
But whenever I feel 
I have to venture deep 
Inside the troubled 
Heart, I make doubly sure 
All doors are barred 
And the window 
Shutters shut tight— 
I brook no grotesque salivating 
Straitjacketed curiosity 
Seekers disturbing 
My mind’s deformed slant.