promise kept.

I love your line,
and your arc, and your weft
and your warp and your weave,
and whatever's left.
And whatever's right,
you've brought me home.
And I'm never again gonna
be alone.

Last moments

Look, I 
love you, bit
I think I'm about to die, 
and yes I love you but
I think I'm about to die, 
and if I do, I want you 
to really know, I
think I'm about to die, 
and
I want you to really know
I love you;

dance card glitch

Free as balls with gala gowns
a-swirl a-twirl on floors parquet,
as partners wheel, caressing eyes
in culture’s dance all night away.
It’s only you I hold in sway,
it’s only me you captivate.
It’s only us who will this tryst,
this trust - all others stand
and wait. 

perspective trick

Why, my own exultancy
has grown
only more meek and majestic!
As wonder has outgrown all awe,
I see how great the vastness is
within which I loom smallest small,
and dote upon the grandest things
- as well befits a mote so tall. 

Plea for Vendetta

Injured by others emotionally? 

You may have a case. Call 
law, law and law to schedule 
a zoom call with a truly mental 
diagnostician and a crack legal
assistant or paralegal. We guarantee
at least an intern, and since your
zoom call is recorded, all of us
may end up watching it.

Maybe someone has inflicted
a condition on you by which 
you suffer? If so, what if for that
they owe you big time? We can't 
make promises until we get all 
the facts of your case.  

Hurt those who hold you accountable.
 
They think they are better than you?
Show them how wrong they are! How 
dare they punish and grind your 
self-worth into the shit of shame
and humiliation in front of all? 

How many saw this? Witnesses? 

The more who saw it, the more 
damage we can prove was done
to you. The more damage, the
more we can drag them into court 
where they'll shit, cowering 
and helpless in their
pants, 
about to be
humiliated and shamed. Because 
of how they treat you. Because
you hire us, they get worse.

Consider us 

your legal vengeance team 
to make others suffer and pay 
for what they did. We don't get paid

until they pay. Or if we lose. Then yes,
we must get paid for our time,
if it turns out you didn't have a case.
That's hardly our fault. But even 
then - you made your displeasure 
clear to the individual who you 
felt had wronged you! 

This 

is a healthy move. There's nothing
passive-aggressive about a lawsuit. 
They'll respect you for hiring us. 
Everybody does. 

cat fancy

The outside cat 
has been playing tiger. 
Crouch and stalk and pounce 
the yard for half an hour,
convincingly. So far 

no prey has got away 

that I could see. Before 
the pounce, or afterwards:
invisible.

We'll trust 
in kitty's senses, then.
In jungles, he's invincible.
We'd both be so let down 
to think it's all pretend.  

generic rout(e)

You are, you know, generic. 
It's just 
you invented the genre
yourself, and we've 
come to trust your surprises 
uniquely-conceived, one not 
like the other. Too easy, 
believed in one long summer 
swallow, and lofted to heights 

- we shan't find tomorrow,
when hindsight blights. 
With the bloom off the novel 
and everything plain. 

Pattern recognition 
you somehow dodge 
every instant of commission 
clicks in like a frame 

same same 

reportage from the front

She's been super-bolty
hidey and leery of me
the whole time
I've been wintering in N.J. 
It is her house, not mine after all.
I defer. 
A woman of her species
must have her way.

However, I came down
from the attic/loft to get coffee
and a smoke. Per usual, she froze
fast a safe distance off. Next she'll flash
to gone - but no! She's paused, so

I hunker down
on my haunches
and extend my hand
making thumb-circles on
index and middle, going
"psssh-psssh-psssh-psssh!"
(as one does)
She's so beautiful. 

Deep matte black
in which light just
vanishes lost, with
tall boots and mittens
of white, and a white museau
with the pale pinkest nose.

She's padding over
now to my outstretched hand 
to see what I'll do to her finery,
oh what a lover of cats 

I sometimes am. Anyway, 
they think so. She's throwing 
herself in press, press, press, circle-whirl,
press-press! Lowering the boom of her head
in my ribs or chest each time, coming in
with emphasis. Her tail-jazz magnificent,
her purr like pigeon coos! She wants ALL
the pets, and then on and so on to head scratches
and long strokes of eagerly-resisting tail. I really
couldn't stop, she was too enthused. Her fur
feels glossy, so deep you could flail lost
and found in it.  

My heart broke with love
and a recognition of
how easily-manipulated we humans are
by any being who breaks standoffishness,
who lets wary, leery indisposition drop
to deign to receive our flawed human 
love, and continue as if neither one 
would stop.  

Then gone, like that. Now gone,
like this. I just had
the most extraordinary experience
petting a cat.

Regrettable excesses

Her cunt could make a dildo cum 
and that's no way to start a poem, 
but sometimes telling only truth 
might risk offense in ears uncouth.

"sundown in paradise"

It's almost the hour 
where everything's changed
the sky's turning rose and gold, 
and strange 
Get lost in this beautiful eve, 
wouldn't you? 
Sometimes it could seem 
like we're missing this view. 
Well here we are as usual, 
wearing no clothes 
I feel like these occasions
should be special, you know?

Well, I've got an apple 
and I know a snake 
it's perfectly innocent, 
okay? 
And I'm always naked 
and you never notice 
Open your eyes, take a bite 
let's play 
Take a bite 
Take a bite 
Take a bite 
Open your eyes, take a bite 
Take a bite
Take a bite
It's sundown in paradise

Lord knows it's paradise 
always here with you, 
and nothing good could come 
of improving this view 

But certain of the details 
have shrunk from neglect
Let's make a bigger picture 
of ourselves, what the heck 

'Cause I've got an apple 
and I know a snake 
it's perfectly innocent, 
okay? 
And I'm always naked 
and you never notice 
Open your eyes, take a bite 
let's play 
Take a bite 
Take a bite 
Take a bite 
Open your eyes, take a bite 
Take a bite
Take a bite
Sundown in paradise

The fruit of the knowledge 
of the tree's going down 
So sweet and unsettling, 
tongues and stomachs frown 
It doesn't seem we've managed 
to metabolize this 
For once it's clear forever
that innocence was bliss  

At least it's clear forever
I could never wrong you 
And yet, it feels so naughty 
We can tell ourselves, too 

And I've got an apple 
and we know a snake 
it's very far from innocent, 
okay? 
And I'm always naked 
and you're struck with wonder 
open your eyes, take a bite 
let's pray 
  

nonfictionesque

England's British Winston Churchill's 
in the news again, back then. Saw it 
on a movie, just. He talked the country 
into it, and history was not the rest 
it could have been, most ever since.
Her people called, that island home
of theirs had toil and bombs to catch,
and blood to spill. About her seas and
channels boiled. All the strings attached
pulled taut, inexorably drawn in many 
wills to more or less unite, align and 
fight to live, and die and kill. For this 

means war. And war means time 

and death, dishonor, treachery.
Ignominy in duty staked 
against the cost of total 
loss. 

And at the end, 
the credits roll. And then you find 
it all was fake.    

opportunisticat

I love how kitty 
who is not allowed upstairs 
to the loft, gathers herself
innocently in the vicinity
as if aimlessly milling, then
when you go to crack open
the closet-like door, revealing
the almost elfin staircase, she 
starts ducking and bobbing 
her head around, hunching 
shoulders, tensing four legs 
for the bolt between two 

'til 
shoosh 
slip-click 

too late, kitty. 
You tried. Don't 
lie, you were 
totally trying. 

Sorry 

those eyes, though. 
Predatorially curious 
orbs in fur angelface. 

Exiled down here, but 
still bobbing and weaving 
cerebrally for the shot 
upstairs.  

undersides

I am interested in 
your undersides - which 
typically are the soles
of your feet, plus just
under your chin, 
where a finger more bold 
might chuck. And then, 
down and between 

where your
dorsiventrality 
dovetails
in round and cleft, 
as cryptic and neat 
as a visual fact. 
Where a hand 
bolder still 
might probe 
and caress, 
but not 
just yet. 

For now, 
on a public beach
lying down 
your undersides 
have before my eyes 
rolled over, become 
your back.  

And I wonder how you 
the magician's assistant 
and very self 

have performed this 
act, without patter 
or barely a prop, 
and nary a
misdirect. 

explains it

Listen I 
explain shit to people 
the same way people understand it. 
I don't dumb down or insult intelligence 
frankly I think intelligence probably knows 
it's above slights unless it itself is. Slight 
I mean. I tell it how it means. 
I can't help it if I don't mean a thing 

I have nothing to say then. People 
have every right to expect whatever 
the heck they want of me! "Expectation" 
is the least reliable form of fantasy, 
and if that's how they wish to indulge
self, hey. 

Knock it out, self. Knock one out. 
I'm not going to tell 'em knock it off. 
I'll make an intent but not intense 
Sincere but not serious (how can it 
be serious?) attempt to know what 
the hell their deal is, and then 

I'll explain it to them. 
Just how they understand it. 

And then we're all on the same 
page, and hanging on 
as some occult hand 
turns it
and the shadow falls 
across the underside, where 
we now abide, watching the facing 
page fly up to meet us 

faceplant. 

All on the same page, 
and the eyes of the reader 
have moved on. 

You ever get that feeling? 
Or one like it? Don't worry, 
it's totally psychological

backbellyness

I was looking up words of -ality 
trying to discern their ittiness. 
Was personality a personal itty?
Or the -ality of a person? I guess 
it may seem to you a bit picky 

to care. 

But it seems to me
the difference 
is stark,
staring,
abject

huge. 

If one's person 
truly has -ality, 
- this could be discovered, 
determined! It would be detectable! 

Something could be known 
about it. 

Whereas, if it's just 
the ittiness 
of being personal, well. 
We all have that. All unique, 
nothing special 
about it. 

So I perused and pursued the point 
'til some quarry had been cornered
and turned, and partly abused, and 

ultimately it was "dorsiventrality" 
that provided the clue. "Back-bellyness," 
the quality of having distinct surfaces 
corresponding to backbehind and
underfront: as of a leaf! Or of you

I started 

to think of your backbelliness, 
and I'm abashed to admit 
I forgot all about your personality. 

I think we'd better face the fact: 
whatever personality is, 
dorsiventrality is a 
part 
or two 
of it. 

some kind of weathergirl

The channel 6 meteorologist 
is a chirpy and adorable optimist. 
She says "80% chance of sun!" Okay. 

But I really don't know
what the other chance is. 

20% chance of rain, I can stand.
But for hail and tornadoes at 20%?
I might stay home, with my head
tucked between my knees all day
in the cramped damp basement. 

Let's wait and see 
  

wiser words

You can never go back. 
If you do, you're just traveling 
forward into the past.

You can't do that.
It's impossible as shit. 
Like the sun rising west
to set east. Legit. So quit 
tryin to spin-reverse nature, son.

Set your feet where you
are, and face where you're
going, and take what comes. 

survival list

Stand fast, girl.
Cut quick. Hold slow. 
Keep your head up
your smart, wise ass.
As usual as usual gets 

It's served you so far
well enough. Tongue
enough in cheek, eyes 
in complimentary eye 
roll mode with each dish 
some impatient waiter 
serves up. You kissed 

a toad once. Long since 
a princess, it worked,
worse luck. You take

what they serve, get it
down and grin, not a thing
to wish. "Better than yesterday,
worse than tomorrow," that's 

what you say when asked. 

Nothing worse than what's
behind you.

All things pass.

All good things come too fast.

Forever comes never, but everything
lasts and lasts and lasts. 

Stand fast. 

wet light and expanse

There is so much world 

between the leaves

with sun broken through

on the water beneath,

and reflections hung 

between three damp stones. 

The canopy shifts

above and beneath,

as your eyes 

find home. 

ice pill

He took a chill pill as directed. 
His fury froze splitting painfully,
instantly frostbitten insides as
his eyes and mind grew cold
as ice, and twice that cold. He
became like unto an ice sculpture,
except opaque with blood, with organs 
rimed inside with frost, and slightly
moving. Breathing. His skin still
warm. To each appearance human,
and no deception. Everyone eased
and breathed, as he grew implacably
courteous. None of them could tell
on the inside, teeth clicked in gears
grinding up to smooth whir, blades
were sharpening, everything
was ice.  

the views exchange

You have not agreed
significantly 
enough with me,
and therefore: war. 

How dare you, you! 
I do declare I shall 
excoriate galore 

Until, displeased 
I go re-read 
the thing you opened
up with sly. 

Deceptively, 
we did agree
right from the start!
OK then. Bye 

communicado

I dig big subtlety 
and boom nuance. 
I believe you get 
my point I believe? 

I think I do, but you 
seem to get more.
I will have to play 
this pretty cool. 

I do not wish either 
of us to deceive. 
 
When I get my point, 
it's already across.
I find it comes clear 
with no signal loss, 
and aspects of it become
known to me: yeah, I did
mean that. Sorry. That's 
on me, of course. 

But could you explain
it to me? I wasn't quite
thinking, but I think
you'll find the implication
is clear, I trust? If so, I don't
always think, but I mean 
more well than any you'd
throw your pennies in! While
making a wish. Which the genie 
can well adjust, I guess.

But me? I'm stuck at a guess, 
until you tell me. Please don't 
be coquettish, coy or opaque. 
It's only me. Please don't be
obtuse. Don't pretend. Tell me,
with all at stake: whatever 
that is, what did I even mean,
by you?

Anyone acute as you shouldn't be 
obtuse. You're pretty acute, don't
you think? 

I do. Anyway, whatever you say 
I'm inclined not to make a stink.   

Alternating current direct current

I love AC/DC. I love 
how Brian tugs the brim 
of that tweed cap, centering 
and staggering as he belts 
that on-key howl. I love 

How Mal and Chris 
(and I present-tense this; 
the immortals don't take 
past tense) stand to the back, 
Mal stiff-jolt twitch, Chris 
more laid-back, but they 
stride in lockstep unison 
to their mics, called 
by the chorus to holler 
hard harmony. 

I love Angus Young. 

But there is no reason not 
to love Angus Young. How 
the squonking squall of minor 
pentatonic blistering cut-glass 
glissando he unleashes from 
within, jerking and flung 
like a puppet on six strings, 

Well, I find it refreshing. 
An infusion of juice to the ears 
that flows straight to veins
and bolts nerves to their joins 
by concussive volts in chords 
and notes. 

Who cannot appreciate these pure
and bone-simple dumbass songs
has probably overthought them,
and underthought some primal 
things. Or else they think the guy 
sounds like he lost a bet with his
larynx and has to sing with his nuts 
in a vise to make up the difference, 
and they can't understand a thing! 

Which is understandable. People 
who don't love AC/DC, that's often 
the reason. They can't understand 
a thing  

soft karma

Karma is the world we make
for ourselves, of people who know
how we really are in what we give.
Wherever we go, we begin anew
on the same kind of warp and weft we live,
unless we decide to change our acts.
Selecting from different flax and dye.
Incorporate new techniques and arts,
and improving the web in which we lie.