Tuesday, October 25, 2011

the old bitch is hungry again

tender like chinese pea shoots
her bosom as indifferent to its newest suitors
as they are to her

the progeny ignore her hungered whimpers
as they stave off their own
draining their mother

if they only knew how they furnished their own odd exile
perhaps the full irony would strike them
and conscience curse their mindless feast

but, there is no time to wait for that
the old bitch is hungry again

Friday, October 14, 2011

amazing grace

you pointed me out
and prompted me through
to you

someone was humming
amazing grace
and then another tune
i couldn't place

but all i need to know is what we're doing here
sailors selling scrapbooks
by the fire

all i need to know is what we're doing here
and some way that you look
i know it's dire

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

small price to pay for a bowl of fried zucchini

small price to pay for a bowl of fried zucchini
-- was an odd thing for him to say, given none was around
perhaps it's an old saying, the optimist intoned
not by a longshot, called the referee

is there any way we can take everything in here, mince it together and mold it into a fancy log? asked the shitfaced frenchman

elder's daughter

elder's daughter meets us at the stream of her mad biology
sequined hindstones mark her passage into relevance
     it is known even to the thundering apes, repelling from tall trees, bento boxes in hand
as they are not finished with them yet




Tuesday, September 27, 2011

a prenap
you won't kill me as i doze?
we are a heady pair

Friday, July 1, 2011

analogy of the day

maiden : voyage ::
(A) female : trippin'
(B) christopher columbus : voyeur
(C) first : lady
(D) prima : facie
(E) 'made in japan' : nuclear holocaust

Thursday, June 30, 2011

that large loom loomed large in the spinster's stories. every day she'd string together yarn after yarn for the spindly women the next porch over, who were too fragile to escape her boasts of indigo cardigans crocheted for crotchety long-dead heads of state  -- truly an unspooling of material far beyond any of their threadbare memories. these women may once have been cut from the same cloth, but their patchy relationship would soon unravel like a performance of 'bolero' by wounded hemophiliacs.