but aren't they all random?

A Pocketful of Poesy was a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog* up until the great derail of 2013. The impossibly-high standard of quality proved impractical to keep up, without a book deal. But don't take my word for it: click RANDOM and judge for yourself! And feel free to offer your critique.
*based on poem rate for calendar years 2009-2012. Also, kidding about the book deal.

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Unreasoned Math

For a very long time now, well,
an eyeblink in geological terms; no wait,
a mudslide in geological terms? An eyeblink
in biological terms. A ring stained in wood,
in botanical terms. In relative terms,
a dead uncle.

In inverse cosmological terms, an eternity.
In terms of vague understatement: for a while.

For a very long time now,
there have been no reasons and
I see no reason to start having them
now. I have no truck with reasons. I
don't need to explain my reasons. I don't
cotton to those. You're not the boss of me,
but you are pretty boss I must admit, and
I need to do a better job, frankly.

No reason. It just feels like it.
Not even I feel. It feels.

I am going to go worry some people.

I will use fingers and possibly lips,
and possibly a soft lush brush of some
delicious variation in texture and sensation.
I will worry them deep inside. I will
worry them at their borders, at their edges,
at their fringes and see
if they fray.

If they do, I will claim the fault
for the idea, and vice-versa, and
I will refute each of those claims,
and I will do it easily, each in turn.
See what they have to think about that!

Feel what they have to taste about that.
Hear what they have to stink about that.
Smell what they have to say about that. Halitosis,
you see, and synaesthesia: an unbeatable combination
you can't get anyplace else but the human brain!
Or so we perceive dimly, as if
through a looking twice.

The human brain: a miracle of Intelligent
Evolution, now on sale for a song, for a steal,
for what that and a cup of coffee will get you,
which depending on the steal could be fine,

I don't care

There have been no reasons
since I gave up that last cigarette,
and the one after that,
and the one after that.

Technically, I guess, what I'm giving up
is less the cigarette than the butt.

Are you surprised
that I would give up the butt?

I couldn't help it. My health
was at stake. To be honest,
what I miss most now was that smooth,
relaxing, satisfying flavor and you could say
this whole thing has gone South, not
even ventrally - which would not
be so bad! Which could be lovely,
depending on one's pet taboos
and the disparate acts and personal
variables of persons and attraction-math
that all add up (as far as you're concerned)
to the magic number 144 on your personal scoreboard:


That's right, and you shouldn't be surprised.
I am running the dozens now. Ask your mother.
She will tell you the same damn score, and
give no reason. She isn't the whore

in this particular yo' momma joke, pimp. Look
in the mirror.

I am.

Monday, March 31, 2014

tat too

This tattoo is sweet: left full sleeve,
an interlocked design of lightning
and clouds in whites,
and golds,
right full sleeve a contrasting design
in greens with white accents, bright
reds and dark browns: flaming rocks
(meteors, essentially), crashing
into white-crested Japanese waves! Upon my
upper back?

A bat-winged snake-dragon with curving horns!
His tail trailing in a sinuous line
down along and to each side
of my spine; across my upper torso
a golden-furred, eagle-winged snake
-dragon with a stained-glass halo.

He would have a golden crown. I have

the artist already on board. Hand-picked
on a recommendation (I was lucky
enough to get to see some of his handiwork
- which I LOVED), also I have
an undertaker lined up who owes me
a favor. She's on board with a living will
and a signed waiver, and she swears

as long as we wait two (2) days

before the artist starts, there will be
no redness or swelling at all. Which means
we are go for closed-casket,
- closed glass-casket -
and a shirtless burial. The casket
should rotate.

I'd be strapped in.

What do you think? What's
your stance on leather pants?

So why do you still?

So why do you still want me to
any of the things you want me to?

Yes, I have to accept that "because
it's fun," works as an answer. But

a gleaming sharp hook through the heart
is fun? Or is it just fun to watch? Maybe
the same thing isn't the same between

us. Could be it could be less fun for me
than it is for you. I mean, I know,

it's my fault and my lookout to draw the line
anywhere I don't want to go, so you

can jump across it. And it's my call to catch,
if you do - but why do you? And why do you
want to?

If I knew,

then I could decide
whether I still want to,

Friday, March 21, 2014

dreams, princess

G'night sweet

princess, tonight may you dream
on a dimpled bed of one hundred identical
chinese silk pillows, each
dream-soft, well-deep on the face-side,
bordered in a rich brocade of a thousand bright and pale
shades of white, and pebbled
on the cool side,
in a rich, shining perfect
cobblestone finish of large,
persian pearls. What strange pillows

in your bed.

Baroque; luxury without any sense to it - but
I say, sometimes
form doesn't need to follow function
to function. Sometimes form,
form...sometimes we

may need to sink deep into the beauty of forms,
and the beauty of a form
for its own sake, in order that we
may awake, and function

by a blessed simplicity not found outside
of the dream we forgot to write down,
but that has had us blushing
with a smile ever since.
Whatever it was,

Tuesday, March 18, 2014


The sun's hot,
and it beats down on the pines
who open up the gaps in their knotty bark, and

breathe out sap

in preparation for Summer.

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

The advice of angels

Angels aren't known for giving great advice. I mean, let's
face it please: whatever
their coping strategies
might be, they do not bear
strongly upon the kinds of struggles you
are going
through, and are going to go
through - the path
you walk like a fool,
where they maybe would fear to tread (if
they gave it half a thought), but even there -
that thought
is entirely too hypothetical
to bother with, not
when you know they'd really only fly

bad patch.

is an angel going to tell you to do? - That will help

Praise God, child. Sing, and praise
God and kill cities and firstborn,

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

memory gloss

The underlying idea seems almost intuitive,

doesn't it?
After all,

every time we consciously access a memory, we are not
only remembering the thing,
we are making a new movie
of the remembering
of the thing.

When we put the memory back, it will be changed

When we put it back, it will be with that added gloss. For
any frequently-recalled event, the original mote
of experience will - over
a lifetime - be almost
completely obscured

by the layers of mother-of-pearl we lovingly lave over it.

Friday, October 18, 2013

"Good Luck/Charm"

life is mysterious. destiny, ambiguous
fate is ambivalent. the possible - infinite
chance is a gamble. risk, we can handle

it's chaos and random - but we've got a hand in,
so here's to good health! here's looking at you,
kid you not - there is naught in this glass to regret
and let's drink to us now! it seems pretty much set,
I guess...

we can always get by on good luck and charm!
you can always rely on good luck and charm

kid you not - there is naught in this glass to regret
so let's drink to us now! toast to best laid plans
with our smiles awry, it seems pretty much set,
I guess...

we can always get by on good luck and charm!
you can always rely on good luck and charm

not a cloud in the sky to build castles upon,
and the landscape is ruined they've all fallen down
but it sure was a view from those turrets so high

we two, with our banners flung snap in the sky
and grinning like fools, on a cloud we called home
well, it's better to live on the ground (don't you know)
where things root, and can live, and can grow,
don't you know?

we can always get by on good luck and charm!
you can always rely on good luck and charm

It's better to live on the ground, isn't it?
"yes it most surely is," I'll exclaim 'til it fits,
"for the best!" And I guess, in the meantime, I guess...

we can always get by on good luck and charm!
you can always rely on good luck and charm

(bridge) the future is nice, I'm sure.
But you can't take it with you -
any future we can make now,
just won't hold up when it hits you

and I'm kind of done
with magic spells,
incantations, books and bells,
and prayers.

But I'm not worried though
I've got my good luck charm, you know


ring cycle 2

the promise, the appeal, rather than to be
the end user of a manufacturing process -
you are a runner in a relay, passing beauty
down the track towards a finish that will be reached -
again and again and again,

all in the course of a ring.

"Smoking 'til the ship comes in" (Or, "Last year's mantra, Revision No.4")

Lord, if I could get one wish I want to be your will for me on earth.

Lord, if I could get one more I want to be the best thing here, for her. But, lord

if I can't be that thing that I most want to be

for you,
just let me be whatever else I have to do

for I
am through

Monday, October 14, 2013

"rare note"

I am a poet of rare note. Like a bank note
that passed out of circulation obscure foreign governments ago,
and is known and prized, coveted jealously
by precisely six people - some of the most erudite, exclusive
and trivial numismatists in the world, except
that's coins, isn't it? In any case,
or pressed between pages, locked
in a safe, we poets of rare note
don't care so very much
about the difference between collectors.


I am in utter command

of my bowel movements.
I sleep at whim.
My erections
are inspirational, and voluntary.
Most people, they say, use 10%
of their brains. I use up to 20%, plus!

A whopping 60% of my own.

"Wild Time Museum"

She waits at the end of it all, the beginning
Sits fresh in her hands.
She lives where it ends
She knows where it ends
Exhibits stretch out in wings
to each side, the past
can't abide, the future
can't die; for the present,
pretend that it's wide open now
- That all of these clear, interlocking locked strands
don't somehow prevent everything but one end
to all this wild time

Tuesday, October 01, 2013

A load of towels.

These things, when they're done
we can hang them out
and they'll dry in the air
but you know, for now -
they are clean, sopping wet
and perfect for this:
let's each choose our towel,
and we'll grab both ends,
and we'll give ten twists
'til the water wrings out and the tension snakes through,
and somebody's bare ass
is about to get whipped! and I say
it is going to be you.

You've a difference of opinion
on that score, though. And
we're not keeping score -
you're ahead, I know,
but it's all in fun. Or
at least, in play.
'Cause that's how we do that
every laundry day
all our clothes have been used up
anyhow, so we might as well
do it all in one swoop!

- but we'll do the towels
first. Always - always.
That's the method that works
every laundry day

If you do

Oh, and wtf do you mean "if"?
Let's not be disingenuous, here. Unless
we can be disingenues, of course
- We'll dress up in ironic gowns,
and waltz widdershins through
our own personal anti-cotillion,
which other people mistakenly refer to as
"the world and everything in it."

inside that guy's head

got an arm off
eyes averted
used to it
dyed hair

both hands

just so you know
we're going to be having sex later
in my imagination



Nothing in life works or works out as intended. This
is no indictment of life. It is an indictment of
intent. Intentionality is no joke - cosmic or
otherwise, it is in deadly grim earnest an attempt
to meet reality more than half-way to our plan,
to our dreams, when
all our lives we know and see where
it really lies. We win, the day
we stop daunting life.

The day we give up - not dreams,
but dreaming. We will wake
on our own terms, and we will find they apply.

Until that day, and every day,
we'll die.

Which is not really so bad. These little deaths
kill nothing but the life we never had.


Bad impulses should be cherished
as entertainment.
You should hang way back, detached
and laugh
at the deliciously stupid act
that you are not fucking about

to do.

safe word

discipline and restraint - not much to choose between
these two virtues.

are you trying to be so mean? I didn't think
you had it in you, at least
not for me

but I guess this is the role
you want to play. It's

not for me,

but baby what ever turns you on
that doesn't kill me, only
makes you stronger - and

I need us strong.

I will hold out, 'til
you can't go any longer.

Saturday, September 28, 2013

a quart of gin.

a false regret
over all the things that can never happen
because time is set.

Time, one thing
that has happened at once, from start to end,
and is constantly done.

So there is no use
to regret, don't fret my friend. There is
but one way, and it

goes on

Thursday, September 26, 2013


I like a woman with a young ass;
a grown-up mind;
an adult sensibility -
in all that that entails;
ancient, wise eyes,
and shining behind them,
a soul that is bought
brand new, plenty of miles now
but all one owner, all good
running smooth, sweet and humming
all original parts combining
in a sum whole you could just about fit
your whole life into,

or at least you would want so much
to have fun trying, and die
while you are at it.

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

dangers of multiple choice

One time,
I was offered three things
and I opted
to take first the one,
second the other,
and then,
later when the person was like, hey,
what about the third?
I was like,
I'll just have another of the second!
- if it's all the same to you,

But it wasn't


what woke me was
a slowly-dawning
sense of foreboding, growing
into an increasingly-specific uneasiness
over a far-fetched but threatening presentiment.


I have half
the necessary time involved, and double the
don't gives a shit.

brand loyalty

Reality's the biggest gift
you can give somebody. Even if
it's coming from your perspective!
They may not like it.
It's not the right brand,
and the taste is funny.
But I tell you! Watch out,
because it's very dangerously
seductive, maybe even addictive
if you distill it pure from the prime,
good stuff.


I would love to learn
how to juggle kittens. Like
if you could do it infallibly,
with so gentle and confident
a touch and motion that the kittens LOVED IT
- and loved you? And with such talent
and assurance that there was never even
a slight chance of dropping one?

I'd be elected Prime Minister


When I fall asleep each
night, I dream of waking
in bed, and picking up my dream journal
from the bedside table. I then write
in it everything I can remember
about what happened that day.

Before it fades.

By the next morning it's gone.

Thursday, September 19, 2013

wrong prank



A play,
an interactive
stunt, a racquet
-bop badminton without
a net,

where a random and
variable number of players
come in on either side and
the birdies are all variants
of a trouser.
A tourney,
where the back-and-forth arc
each volley describes could be visualized
in terms that leave one breathless,
gaping at the sheer
mental athleticism of all the participants here
who, in seeming effortless, blow minds
and bat around trou after zer
for hours and instants until the audience
whips its collective frenzied mind
into a blur, into stiff peaks
of sweet yet tart meringue

and must admit
oh goodness - this won't fit
I never understood the rules
except by breaking them. Ah,


Then suddenly a clapboard claps
to mark the start of this next scene, and everyone
in clapping distance dawns in horror, sprawled upon
their mind's first realization that...

...their trousers are missing.

And in-between,

the neighbors next to next door's house, left
their oven running out,
left their oven gaping wide they fled the scene,
they ran outside into the street,
to keep it real. Call the police
to seal the deal anonymously,
shush! It's not me, it's just

- the neighbors you can't trust
have called it in. Reporting screams.

Well, someone? Tell them what
it means.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

better than too good to be

The words to describe this
are all wrong. Fantastic.
Fabulous. Even Wonderful -
all deal with things not real, jarringly
out-of-place here; things that yaw in
from out of a world of fantasy, these words
speak, breathless, of the concoctions
of fabulists, brewing and weaving
the unreal into an object of Wonder,
upon which reason can get no grasp, find
no purchase.

Not what you have actually achieved. This

which you have made is as concrete
as legal tender. The texture prickles
under one's fingers and lingers in memory,
the way only sensation can, when recalled. What you have done

is credible.

Against Purpose #2

Purpose helps how?
Purpose is what - the illusion
of control. We act and expect
as if intended result
will follow like thunder
from what we done.

From what we done, to bring it on.
It won't!
We know it won't, we can't
- control.

I do the thing

bright like lightning and with just as little regard
for what happens to the air afterward,
in my scorched ozone wake.

Lightning is not proud of thunder. Thunder
is the hanger-on, the bandwagon, the press
of the masses of sycophants, radiating out
to spread the word, their own reaction, proclaiming
the gospel of what the lightning meant.

The lightning didn't mean that. The lightning
meant nothing but the act. Purposeless, senseless, this
is reasonable enough. It was a bright act.

I don't say it needed to be done;
I felt it could be done,
and I did it.

There is,
building up in the clouds
an energy and a charge called free will,
and who is in charge

of it?

against purpose

is a false god. Too many lives
punctured and immolated upon that altar, too many
acts, uselessly dedicated
to that. That
incontrovertibly empty,
and therefore ineluctably corrupt,

The worship of purpose,
founded on the dogma that things
should be done for a reason.


and gentlemen.
I don't need to tell you
where I stand on that. I don't
stand on that.

I stand as far away from
that as possible. But at need,
under attack
from it,
I give you

my vow now:

I shall not shirk to stand against it.

Come, shelter in
behind me.

I have a very odd
combination ready, to befuddle the beast's defense, then
we trip it, shoot past,
break North,
crack a forty and laugh.

Purpose is useless to us.

Purpose is useless to us. A thing should be done
for no reason, or not at all.

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

the horror beyond the end of it all

At the very end stage of the universe
...just after that, long after all
has been said and in the moment
after all is done,

in the breathless interval
that extends permanently
after the last thing
to ever happen
has happened

...somewhere, out in all of the vast
expanse of distance through which
the thinning, dimmed vestiges
of matter and energy have
finally worked themselves through

the final throes of thermodynamic entropy, I hope

somebody comes along
and hangs up a sign.

a sign that says, "out of order."

brightening dawn

Whatever the day may bring
I know that I've always been
through worse.

And I have lost more
than anything I have left.

As blessings go
- as blessings let go - I see
no call to curse.

With each darkening dawn,
I am brightening. Not ready

for the worst.
Just for what's next

Monday, September 16, 2013

got slick

I got slick and slipped


a hardwood floor
of my own polishing. So I
checked my


rolled over and moaned
took off my socks, squared shoulders
pushed off, got up off,
straightened out


and went for more.

all in one smooth motion,
conscious of how cool
it no doubt didn't


where me been

I'm scarce,
and when I'm to be found
I'm sparse.
Not much of me to go around,
and what there is
is harsh, not sweet
and not kind.

I'm not the man you knew,
but then I guess

that isn't someone you would miss,
or mind.

Sunday, September 15, 2013

And you call yourself a scientist.

You find yourself saying over and over
"I am going to prove something
the rest of the world
is entirely incapable
of proving!" saying to me,
about different things you have
proved, over and over again:
that no one else on earth
has ever proved this


you call yourself a scientist.

This is my result, these
are my methods and here
is what they prove.

Could you prove this too?

Does it work also for you?

bad things in threes

the things that are expected of you
the way that she looked when you saw her last
the memories of previous deaths repressed

bad things like these, they come in threes

the word you just found out you're using wrong
the fact that you're wrong, after all this time
was everyone laughing? or are they just dumb?

bad things like these, they come in threes

the slip that leaves you exposed as you fall
the crack of your skull, breaking nobody's heart
the schemes you believed guided you, fallen apart

bad things like these, they come in threes

the things that are expected of you
the way that she looked when you saw her last


people are kind
of ready to write me off,
but nothing's decided it finally, yet.
They're still waiting to weigh what they'll get to deduct
versus all the expense
and the current projections of what they expect
- of all I could get them,
and what they could get.

It's a roll of the dice, these things
- not exact. And whatever the choices
are made, it's an act
that can never be taken back.
It's an art.

However the choices are made,
I won't blame. It isn't a game,
but I know what part
I have played.

These decisions
are made for a reason
each time, and

it's never the same

Saturday, September 14, 2013

St. George and the Dragon

I want to destroy
is available
- and destructible,
of course!
I don't want to waste
effort, or
resource on what can't
be broken now,
brought low
by force - but that still
leaves quite a bit, through which
to plot one's course.

I don't want
to be the hero
or the antihero, no
just an implacable place
for you to place your blame
- a force of nature, or fate
or whatever you've got
whatever you name
to keep the demons at bay
whatever you've got
that keeps you okay
with all
that this
world's not.

That's what I'm here to slay. 'Cause
I wanna be anarchy, let's go hey ho
I wanna be
but I'm not. I'm me.
Oh, say - can you see, by the
rocket's red glare, bombs bursting in air?

Well, I can't. See, there was
never a sight in my entire life
that I needed so badly

to see by such light

A Pocketful of Poesy.

Truth is never a princess.

It's always going to have you reaching
for the top star, just out of the box
and ready to light up.

The only way for you to get there
is to jump.

Don't lose your balance!

If you've ever known what you wanted,
more than anything else in the world,
don't tell anybody

- just wish for it all the harder.

Because how can know what smart is
if you don't know the shadow? How can you tell
what evil is if you don't know what it is to be

And how can you know the light, if you
have never seen the dumb? It's easy

to start out, to keep going, but hard
When what lies behind you can't guide you now.
When you know in your heart why.
When one foot in front of the other just proves
you have no idea which direction you

came from.