beyond compare

I'm not saying I need to be
the best lover in the world, but
I better be the best lover YOU
ever had, is all I'm saying, so
you better be a virgin, because

I'm pretty sure I can't stand much
comparison. I mean, past experience, was
there ever a woman who held on to me? Who
pleaded oh baby, no you got to stay

you love me the best, I
no. Pretty sure there wasn't, so

yeah, I probably suck, better not
have too much expectation in that
department. Unless

well

it's true
I got no complaints. And some people said
kind things at the time, specific
things. Maybe the sex
was O.K. Except - why wouldn't they

stay then? Or beg to? Stands to reason
they would, unless

no. It had to be the sex. It could not have been

personality

shut

Yes, I've been
in a cell. With the whole world,
that I loved,

shut out
and no way out of it
nothing I could do
no matter how smart, how
creative. How sane how
small

I could not slip through.

I am in there still
thinking

I will somehow get
through

unlocking

Love is the master
that sets you free
to slave forever
in liberty

NOTHING

The abyss you gaze into

and the yawning void
it becomes out of sheer
boredom. Unimpressed by your
abyssgazing ways The abyss
has seen better. In fact

it took one look at you and decided
NOT to gaze also. You got
abyss-zoned, standing up there,

lofty at the edge looking
all deep down, waiting to look

long enough, waiting

to be gazed into,

nothing.

Nothing.

Vicissitude

I'm kind of in denial about
a piece of glass I have
in my foot.
In my toe, actually - it's in
the tip of my index toe. The

longest toe I have, just right
of the big toe. It's a long

monkey-toe, and

I don't really have to walk
on it. This house

has no good pair of tweezers.
I always forget

to buy one. I never

have a piece of glass
in my foot

at the pharmacy.

without cause or alarm

You know that you've woken up,
when you try to keep going and the images
have stopped, and the music is gone, and the plot
is still, there but the next three steps
are becoming thin air in the light
of day. Dream logic makes sense

in ways that don't
when subjected
to a waking brain.

And everything

so important a moment ago

seems silly enough to complain.

coursers

I hate it when I love it when that happens.
And I love it when I hate it that it won't.
I'm never going to know what I want most of all,
but I'd never lie and tell you I don't.
And whichever possibility seems farther out
right now,
I know I can't expect the future to hold

to whatever courses I expect to pull myself
towards.
Another pair of hands on the reins
has equal force,

and in any given moment,
so much less doubt.

The Science of Detection

I mostly read Sherlock Holmes stories
for the food. Holmes knocks over
a bowl of oranges ("Watson! You clumsy
") or chain-smokes like a madman all
over the invalid professor's bedroom,
to find he's had a fine large dish
of cutlets - enough for two, really.
Not to mention all those hurried
meals, stuffed in pockets on the way
out the door when the game's afoot,
the cold pheasant or whatever laid
out by Mrs. Hudson. It's details
like these I treasure. Those who
pass over them unnoticed lack

a certain faculty of observation,
I find.

nudity: advice for coping

How uncomfortably pure
is one's nudity. It would go
perhaps best with an art degree,
and a roomful of gawking and callow
youths, with a few continuing-education
types (perverts) mixed in
to complete the stares

of this peerless group.

Otherwise, a beach? Where swimsuits
are only allowed. You can wear yours
if you want! Some do. Then maybe later
'round say, late afternoon - hide it under
your beach blanket, and sun yourself
wherever you like,

Wherever you've missed.

The shower, too - or the bath
were just about tailorlessly-made for you
to strut and soap or soak your stuff
without anyone there to say "hoo
hoo!"

Which would be too much, really or
not quite enough.

Sex is one place where it awkwardly
gets into everything. Every choice
lewd bit you've so carefully covered
and hid, so sudden-exposed and grabbed,
felt up and probed, prodded and stroked, and
poked and kissed - you're doing the same!
You hypocrite. It's hard to have shame

when the moment hits, and our hot tight
bothered and chafed addiction to clothes
goes right out the window, or on
to the floor. Anywhere you could throw
and miss.

There are places and ways, we can cope
with it. I bet you could think of
a couple few more? Make a list

Sideways playground

Happiness has
a lot of sideways and upside-down aspects
backwards, too. Kids know this,
but for adults it's too hard.
The dignity aspect

tricky to fake past a certain
age. So they give up. Abandon

their swingsets
in a launched arc off the highest point,
too grown now, too heavy for the landing

it hurts when you come down

and blame your abandon
say you displayed too much of it,
but maybe really too little. The merry
-go-round becomes a metaphor getting
nowhere, the fun it was forgotten,

the seesaw

becomes another metaphor, this time
in an Aerosmith song for feet flying up
in the air, sex everywhere
in a playground

I hope to god

not during school hours
real mature

some people never grow up,
others do it wrong. But

happiness will never be perfect
with practice. Only play

You don't have to know the song.

body issue triggering

I realize that women get pretty proud
of themselves for giving in to the
bull shit and whipping their whole ass

into SHAPE like you wouldn't BELIEVE
from the social media photos but

let's not assume. Unrealistic is not
impossible. But

my MALE GAZE hurts from the counterposts
of other friends, they talk about diet,

they talk about exercise they talk
about body and they say "STOP TRIGGERING
AND HURTING ME WITH THE GOAL TALK
OR I BLOCK YOU UNFRIEND"

and wow it hurts because I know they are
good people

hurting from all these fucking showoffs
with their body progress who don't see

they're doing it for MY PLEASURE?
I don't think so

which I'm not guilty over in the slightest.

I been called a patriarchy ho
and I was like uh huh
uh-hu

all the people in the house having
sex for the bills say "ho"

"Ho"

but a patriarchy ho, I don't know
I just know I've done nothing
my shame can detect
to that effect so ho.

And I wish women would be cool
with other women's body progress
or their own lack thereof, or
any combination of issues

on that score. Because when shit happens
people look at ME LIKE (sorry I LIKED
SOMEONE'S PHOTO ok? IT WAS CONVENTIONAL) it's
my fault, you know? They look me right in the SEX

and say it's the problem, probably, or
organs connected to it, the brain
ostensibly being the MALE WORST

well shit

I never called a f*t *gly
bit*h that in my life

Got me confused with somebody

or something. I just want all the women

happy

whether they're happy with their looks, or
no
I guess they would have to be.

I honestly am.
They're not my looks, you know?

To be honest I'm ok with the accusations

I mean I hear it feels better to vent, so
some good done, no harm by me,

but it did not burn one
of my calories.

forward to complaints

Some long time ago,
in a darkened room, it was decided

that "Spicy" on a product label
was to be calibrated
to please the taste of people

who would spit it out if it was.
Now I'm not saying it's wrong.

But it's not accurate.

ambition undone

If I could be a stand up comic, I
would want to be one of those guys
pigeonholed as a wholesome one. Clean

for the family with an edge
so they're not embarrassed

to tell people they love you
I mean, me. I would jump
fuck up in front of those

the stage

people would want
pleasant to

it

hilarious.

I would practice more. Get my act
tight and professional as fuck,
the timing
'til they expect it!

But so nice
what a relief so clean

for a certain mindset
no shame,

Like a job to live up to
no hurt feelings, just

sometimes you want
to be famous for filth
and sex like

drugs
comedian stuff
bankruptcy and crime, danger

the ladies

I'm attracting the wrong kind

and not enough.

F

F is my favorite letter
and not just because of school
where I paid too much attention
to school

but don't
get me wrong

I did get an F
or 2

Just-Stories, So

What if the universe
that we're in is a book,
beloved, a favorite read
written out from within,
every word of it ours - oh,
only the slimmest of chapters
where we come in - but what if

that part is the favorite part?
Beloved, re-read time again? By
whoever has just popped out of

the house is on fire, now

what oh no please, put
it out, it is in the room

with the bookcases, study
or library, quite understuffed
and the shelves

have taken alight,
climbing up, and we sit
between pages, oblivious

on a table, a lamp. It
isn't clicked on, what with day
streaming in and the sirens shut
out by storm windows and screens,

as here by the easiest chair conceived,

there sits a beloved book. Not even quite
written through, but ready to end, or

to read.

Sherly Crow Homage

And a happy couple enters the bar,
hosing and scrubbing as best they can
in shirts and suits, and the woman in me
says out of nowhere, "Get out of here!
Make a beeline for the beach, are you
happy enough to be strong? Get some
vitamin d in, you know where that
comes from, comes in, say what
you want but your favorite mistake

had better be me." Not knowing how
to take all that in I left the front door
standing open, and hit it with my ass

on the way out ouch to the beach,

where I was overdue

to be brought back to life
after thrashing and waving around
in the tide pool for kicks

making mud angels
like myself look good,

all for a very invasive
kiss.

kid-having and other stunts

Having kids is basically an attention grab
Typically pretty flawed - those kids

don't pay much attention to mom
or dad,

what with the world they just saw
they had

which is cool as all
and hard as hell

to distract yourself
from, with anyone
or everything

else

Uses of Bother.

If a certain thought bothers you,
wave your fucking wand at it or
something. Smack it with the

big star at the tip, turn it
into a poem, or a song or

a piece of currentist sculpture, or

- if you have the time,

a painting in oils, and then

it won't.

Bother you so much. You might
even be a touch grateful

for the imposition it made. An inroad

upon some un-blazed trail,
upon some as-yet uncast part
that you scripted yourself, and stepped in

to play

with a motivation you didn't ask
the director to tell

oh, you don't say.

optimistic conditions

My Optimism
(such as it is)
is conditional on things working out
for the best, a rose-colored
retrospect

always supposing that things
work out. Very often, they don't.

I suspected as much. I've always been
far too suspicious a man to be
called an Optimist,

except

by people who hear me remarking
on what's coming up, with an eye

to each best-laid plan.

the real reason I stopped writing things down

I wish
I didn't used to write things down
so much. I came across

a page in a songbook ages ago
I was taking notes from the conversation
we had, that eventually

we gave up. Such ridiculous
not-even lies, and all
made-up. The truth

is that you were right,
that I
was right, for as long as we tried
to agree. Invincibly true,
if unevenly.

The real reason I stopped writing things down
is I got lazy.
The ink
in the tiny wallet-sized pen that you gave me

dried up.

Permanent.

I never had a former life,
and that's a certainty.
'Cause if I had been someone else,
it wouldn't have been me.

I am in my skin
And I've got soul
I'm just speaking for myself,
you know

And I
Am
Permanent, I am
now

I am permanent,
I am now
And I'll be hanging round
beyond the bitter end
Because I
am permanent.
Yeah I am

I came from nowhere straight to here,
and I'm never going back
Reality's the cross I bear

but I'm okay with that.

I am in my flesh
in my right mind
I won't trade anybody's place
for mine

And I
Am
Permanent, I am
now

I am permanent,
I am now
And I'll be who I am
beyond the bitter end
Because I
am permanent.
Yeah I am

As sure as I am standing here
As far as we can tell
As long as we have all this time
We really might
as well

I am in my self
with some control
I don't need anybody else
to know.

'Cause I
Am
Permanent, I am
now

I am permanent,
I am now
And I'll be that I am
beyond the bitter end
Because I

Am permanent.
Well I am

the challenge of morning

I could gain entry to the day
the main way that I do,
by sudden roll, drop
out of bed, pop it askew
and turn a piece of digital information to sound
have some/hear some fearsome inspiration
however found by such usual means
- stick it hard to inside, like

a spike to the bottom of heart, and let glide
out and into circulation in a system of veins,
arteries and capillaries to release it to pain

- or just beauty. Truth, maybe, really any kind
of song - that’s the point that I’ve been working
every day all along. I said gain,
and drop,
and have some inside - and there will be
at least a lot of me left, when I’ve died.
Because it keeps building up, it keeps,
building up high, you can’t

hide.

“Relatively Red”

Roses are read in red ink,
on an ivory page.
Seeming centuries old,
conveying: nothing
of scent, or petal
or thorn, yet -

reach out your hand
the page is still warm.

Violets are darker,
in cooler tints.
Spelled out in shades

one could view the world through,
quite as clearly as rose-colored specs,

Except

You would not trust the one
who you love anymore. Or
anything they might do next
in this suddenly uncertain age.
Through new eyes, their flesh
gone gray, their lively glow faded

and blurred to a violet stain
on a cold white page.

fold

I wash my hands, after
every time I pray. At least,
when I use my hands. Sometimes

it is only a clear bang-chime
light, a contracted glow pulled
into point, shot out to beam
aligned, with a focused
and dedicated whack
to the mind, to stream
aimed out and up, and up

to some far star

where heaven ain't. I know
the score
location-wise. You

might as well pray down.

God's everywhere, Australia
especially -

- with that infinite, gently
consternated frown, concern,
concern so free - God's got

good hands
for all your cares
so powerless you set them free.

the groaning guns

The battlefield grew thick and tall
with future corpses marching on
as antsily as ordered ranks of hivelike
single-purposed mind could tramp. They itched
like hives, for trigger-pull - not owing

to some bloodless lust for death, but
going mad in dread suspense, anxiety
for us, for everything they'd put
behind, and left for past. They all
had come
to stand
and march
and stand
some more, or

fight.
If push
could ever come to that, they've come
prepared for that, and more. They've come
to face the future looking back
with haunted eyes, in baby face
grown only days or weeks more old.
Or months,
or years
- or maybe gone
to early graves

before they have the chance to pull
the lever back, to crack boom wide
in sundering of bone and skull.

With sudden cleft, the world
gave in. Relieved them of
their dread suspense, in thundering

of groaning guns - the higher-ups
were misinformed by enemy
intelligence. Come let us all

support the troops.

Whichever side
has fielded them. They grow as deep
and thick as flies,
regardless of the flags they flew,
regardless of the loves they knew,
regardless of the future now,

with haunted eyes
they never had a chance

to grow into.

libertine ascetics

libertine ascetics don't
get half the credit
their effort deserves,

making such a big point
doing all they please, without
any constraints, taking

liberties, just to be

so spare,
so sparse,

so coolly cool,
so minimalist

that you'd have to cock
your head and squint

to see the rule.
And you can't even then

insist.

AUTHOR’S NOTE (Literary):

The above is not satire.
It is travesty.
Satire mocks

by making ridiculous with a logical exaggeration
of a thing’s real properties. Travesty ridicules

by making a mockery of a thing’s exaggerated
and illogical attributes. Naturally,

in this cramped, seized day
and overacting age, where exactness
is King and imprecision rules, people

vaguely confuse the two
one for the other, without distinction
or even class. And they wonder

why I mock them.

curious look

The look on your face alone
is one I wish I could see,
to compare with the look
on your face when you're
with me. I know,

I probably don't want
to know,
really.

There's always a risk to
comparison. There's always
the chance you won't like
to learn - but if ignorance

as they say, is bliss

I have more than most to burn,
where you're

concerned. I will never

stop knowing you, and getting
to know, not willingly. So long

as we do not say "so long,"

I will treasure your every privacy

that you care to share,

and respect the rest. Entirely
yours, what you give and bring
- so becoming mine, to be blessed
and kept. But I wish

I could see the look on your face,
when I'm stumbling, trying
and saying such things
as these. I know

if I could,
I'd find the way
so much easier through,
I could go on my knees.

"the branch"

You and I struck up so fast
conversation and bond
the sand on the beach beneath
our bare feet, was fused to glass

you can still see our naked pads
and toes, our deeply wet
and planted heels, unsuspecting

of all we now never will

unknow.

Especially how it felt
and still feels.

We were taken up into air
bright sky, into blue
like a self-abduction stunt,
the aliens we always were
to ourselves, in each other

had found some one,

impossibly not
to be true.

As we’ve somehow flown
from a side-by-side
blaze, our courses
they drew, drifting further
by burning white-hot degrees,

in a pure and certain agreement

by angles too tiny to note
at the time, we strayed

like the sundered and sundering
parts of one bolt. We know now

we’ll cleave the sky, but
separately, somehow. We could never

try. It was effortless play
from the first. And so,
here we hang just far apart
enough to hurt. To know
how we came

so close. And finally, grasping
never again to reach, to touch

with only a sense
- anastomosis, like a network
of phantom limbs - all your arms
holding me, all my arms

around you, slipping free
in every memory, growing
frantic in knowing

how inescapably we have flown
so free.

and still
going

Origin Story

If I am kidding myself, I don't
know where. Any pointers or suspicions
you share will be hauled in
with the rest of the take, gladly! I've

put so much in of my own, to build up
the pot, I don't mind betting clothes

if it keeps the game going. Such
innocent motives I always have! What a

CLOWN. I stand outside myself and JEER
at the Fool I've made so true! Quite deliberate
and inventive, picking every step
of the way, and which foot
to put in!

How come
there isn't a superhero
based on a mime, anyway? He or she
can pull on invisible ropes that actually drag
things, trace invisible walls in the air
that box the world out, repelling bullets
and explosions, even. The most detestable,
irritating superhero ever, and never a word

to say in his own, or hers, defense! Why not?
Whole genre's a joke. Strategies like that

don't work, even (and maybe
especially) IF you were hit

by a lightning bolt

to gain such insights
into them

BEWARE, FOOL WORLD

an avenger is coming
to make no sense

thief of scars

He slips in
as if usual, and takes
the hardest lessons ever -
that you forced yourself somehow
to learn - so easily

away, you don't even
feel the tug, the pull,
the rip, the cord
of shining skin

that marked the spot
you swore you'd never
let yourself be hurt
that way

again. And oh,
you won't. Not him.
It's gone. The beautiful
ugly slick, the knot
that bound you back
together again, keeping
warm blood safe
and in,

has vanished

irreplaceably. Your own
unmarked and human
flesh is back,

cosmetically
or something deeper
repaired.
He's unwound your
wounds, as if

he cared. As if
you know. Old lessons
can't apply

to what he'll do
with all the lack

of wisdom
that
he's made

anew
in
you.

AOC is AOK

This fearsome, lissome (not
that it means some) whip-crack
patriarchy-whacking hot scourge
of the glittering knick-knacks
and twisted bones
of capitalism,

sure

has a lot to learn, so you've heard
and you get the sense she's only just
begun.

She walked in knowing
what you cannot learn on that job,
and will suss the rest toot sweet.

Your confidence in her is not even odd.
She's got the freshest combination of "it all"
recently seen, and she's on our side
like a dream come true! This woman was made

to be politically objectified - you'd think? But

hey fans, put your pedestals down.

All around, down on the ground, get
over yourself and hers

we've got work to do.

social meteor

I feel like I am being taken to pieces
by love,

and it's beautiful, clanging pain
I would not give up.

All the people I knew so much
what a wonderful invention to keep in touch

they reach out, catching hold with steel trap hands
and pull, as I scroll falling all the way down

some bottomless wall

you'd think it would slow my descent. But no,
as pieces of me held taut dislocate, and finally
rip pulling free, the further I fall.

Herkily jerked to stops, then torn,
shot through with bliss of rediscovery

seeing how happy each
one is: how happy you are,
and you, and
you,

agonies of loss. Happy for
the sake of the people you've lost, though.

How could it be otherwise

and still have been true?
There is so much love

I'm so happy to see you
again,

so much.

You don't even know.
But we're through, aren't we?

Nor should you know. Look on, to your
life and loves - tend, and
take care now, and grow.

Somewhere overhead,
some star in the sky
wiggled just like a tooth, almost ready

to lose itself.

What if it's true

your whole life flashes by
in front of your eyes

when your time comes due?

How could you even tell?

tiny sharp vessel

Subtle
like a ghost of a smile
as the needle slips out
from the vein
- somehow, still

shivery cold.

You're not sure

what the test or
the medicine's for,
or which it is anymore,

truth told.

You are on your way

Somewhere there's a sting,

somewhere there's an ache

somewhere there's a wait

for a sudden chill
that always comes
through

- when you least
expect, until it stops
as you know it will, for

so much of
you.

And the rest
will be taken away for a spell,
somewhere quiet to rest,
someplace safe

to be ill.