not a fight

Obviously no one would describe
a conversation as “a fight”
if it were not animated,
demonstratively emotional
and probably loud. Unless

they were close enough
to make out words. Then
they might: because fights
of the conversational kind

can be conducted with even
tone and equanimity, and
regardless devastation unleashed.

The blows register all through.

The reactions are held, postponed
for later grief. Wanting to keep it
together. Wanting, perhaps, to spot
avenue of rescue offered, or opening
up to dart and seize. Escape

from the words pouring in,
building up,
tightening their vise. Maybe

we could get out of this. We
could make words mean anything,

if the other agrees.

past master plan

I plan on dying 
yesterday. Judiciously, 
this step would spare 
me so much trouble
here today. And then 
I plan on waking up 
tomorrow. Hip, head, 
heart hooray! It would 
be hailed as miracle, 
unless no one had 
noticed it. I'd pretty 
much be fine and 
fit. 

a sales job of law

There was a law on the wall. 
It said Things Here May Only 
Be Sold Here. Warning: Does 
Not Apply Elsewhere. I asked 

the cashier: is the law true? "The 
law is always true," she monotoned,
in a voice grave and wise that belied
her young years, and also the law
(generally). 

I pursued. "So things here may
only be sold? Never bought? How
do you sell them?" 

She frowned. Her eyes were growly. 

"The act of sell and buy is one." 

I believed her. She meant business. 

"But so the law...?" She clarified 
in a way that managed to be both 
huffy, "over it" and flirtatious - a 
next-level sales move! Where did 
she learn it, or was it impromptu? 

Perhaps inspired by me in some
way? Am I the next-level sales move
muse, here? Great effect regardless.

Anyway, she clarified. "The important 
part is Here. Things Here can only be sold 
Here." "Oho!" I said, getting it. "So I cannot 
coax you to bring a selection of merchandise 
outside and sell it to me there? It must be sold 
here." "Correct," she brightened, seeing that we 

were close to upholding the law. "That would be
against the law, and so in us: against humanity 
as we uphold the law." 

I nodded. The law was true, and now I knew 
how and why. I was removed from hazard, 
and free to abide.  

creating a local ambience

It ruins the dignity 
of wondrous, amazing
things to speak of them 
as if they actually happened. 
Or worse! To complain of them
in a showboating way, loud and
offhand as if now and then is nice,
but come on! Sick of it! Prompting 
the other to step up and lie, in order 
to validate and seem too part of the 
"we know" crowd.  "Ahh, yeah I know
what you mean! Only here, right?
Typical of this place. Others don't
know." 

Let us speak instead in knowing 
winks, alluding to these things 
we all know make this place 
so specially weird. Be not
too definite. Too precise. It's 

part of the charm 

of living here.  

We all know

call the manager

You violate my policy 
in your own place. Call 
the manager and demand 
revenge for the blasphemy 
I am about to commit on 
you in my own mind! As 
to you, you yourself I will 
murder in secret, you will not
know. For the record, I content

myself with a remark, a rebuke,
cryptically superior coming from
me, to put you in you place. Which

to be honest, is your problem. 

character arc

He felt
that
he owed his country

a huge favor.

So he enlisted 
in the shadow military.

He knew then: he could do
the most secret good for the
greatest number of unawares.
Trained, tasked and turned loose 
on the Los Angeles underground,
where he could be the best with 
the worst, doing the most with
the least, he became a clear ops
commando. Wholly transparent
in his ways and means, with
invisible clearance and a
security level second
only to a classified
bunker declassified,
debunked, but still

strong as all.
Of deep, thick wall. Inside, though
- he was a powder keg. Fully intact,
contained - no fuse. Not even
gunpowder
in fact.

Baking powder.
In a world already
preheated to four
hundred fifty degrees   
but no egg, no water,

no flour.

No salt. 

No bread. 

How did it come to this 
The recruitment office 
behind the secret alley 
said he'd be the good 
one

Street Fight

She leapt airborne
upside-down helicoptering
at me with whirlybird legs 
and a karate yell!

I knew it 
was a dream 
as she kicked me
six times in the face, same
cheek, alternating feet, 
and recovered with 
a neat tumble 
and crouch. 

I shook my head, said 
"hwoof!" and blinked. 
"That's some wild upside 
down flying helicopter 
kick, miss! Does your 
mom know you use 
your legs like that?" 

She narrowed her eyes, 
leaped forward on one leg 
and kicked me between 
literally twenty to thirty 
times with the other. 

I began to suspect this 
was some kind of game 

to her.
I didn't know 
any of my fancy moves, 
so I popped a low crouch
and foot-sweeped her about 
fifty times right in the ankle 
fast! Too fast! She couldn't
react, just kind of stood flashing
from the impacts with her head
thrown back 

'til she dropped. She was way 
better than I am, baby. 

But I've got my sweet move. 

we meet again

So we met
- it had been awhile,
and she was clear
it was a bad time,
but she wanted to
spend it right now.
With me. I said
"???"

She

gave me a look
then took
it back.

She told me a story.
"I couldn't
believe my ex
when I followed 
him to a motel. I knew 
then I was wrong
about whatever
I was thinking about
him. In that exact moment,
I had never been more wrong,
and for the first time I knew it."

She broke off, fixed me with a 
lookful of meaning: "I was right!" 

On she went. "I stood before
the motel door vibrating with
audible wrath

and 

he opened it 
suddenly 
totally unexpect it! 
No knock, no warning!

and I totally changed my 
appearance 

'I can't explain!' he said. 
'I'm in here with women 
of all kinds, and now you 
show up! Aren't you my

ex?' His look of pain
confused with exasperated
triumph, grief and joy was
real. 

'I am now!!' I said,"

"Wait," I said "- do you mean 
she said? It's you in the story 
right? Were you already his 

ex before, or was it the last
straw motel showdown? How
many women were in there?"

"It doesn't matter," she said, 
seeing I was so interested. "My
faith is so important to me that
that moment took a shit in my
soul. I have never believed in
anything since. Not faith, not
belief, not the sky - not even
love."

I looked at her. This woman I knew 
was capable of some of the most 
amazing feats imaginable in bed, 

according to her and who knows 
who else. I started, stopped. Began,
"Are you saying

- what are you saying?" 

She broke out in a grin limp with
exhausted gratitude. "I mean it!
I thank so many things in the world
for you, man. You always hear me out.
I can count on your ears and heart
to add up to three, every time."  

"True," I mused. We half-rose, beaming,
half-hugged, broke and sank back in place.
"That's it," she said. "I think I'm all clear
and clean." 

I nodded
and grinned.
She sat there and 
so did I. We just kept
sitting there forever, 
we still are. 

In some part of us each, 
both, that moment stuck. 

present tense

He kissed 
you in places 
that bounce 
and squirm 
and rebound 
and vibrate 
in ways

you can't learn 

what it's like

except now. 

And next time, 
you won't know 
going in

what it's going to be 
like with
him,

Oh

the basest beast bakes

I intend to be baser
than any beast.
Baser than amoebas.
Baser than birds 
or fishes. Not
so base as loaves,
but baser than the yeast 
that gave up so much
of its lives to make
that thing rise
in an oven like hell
for that heavenly smell!

Fresh baked 
goods? 
HAH!

An abomination to some!
I’m no baker again! Another
botch job of loaves - why are
there still powdery clumps of 
baking soda in this? Why
is it sour? 
ACK.
Phui!

More egg, I guess. 
But I used them all 

two words gone

I'm trying to find something
in mind, I thought of just 
this morning. It was perfect 
and small, with blanks spread 
out and forward to come 
to borning. 

That was lame. Sorry. Forced 
rhyme - corny as hell! Anyway, 
it was anchored in place by 
two simple words. The 

concept spread out from there. 
I did not jot it down, I just felt 
it would keep. 

And now my mind is bare  

Christmas pitch

I always thought there should be a movie
where the global interstate (wait...I don't
mean a big road, but a sort of loose selves
-interested cabal of ostensible public servants
and deep-pockets bigwigs posing as if We Are
All Government! for the major states and nations
of the world, all whilst maneuvering interpersonally
and internationally for petty gains and advantage) (but
this is not the illuminati! These are legit powers of the
peoples, acting largely in their official capacities! Apart
from the bigwigs, who...you know what?) 

I'll come in again

It's pretty grim and dimlit in that X-Files/German Expressionist
way. These folks put a feeler out to Santa, hey buddy, you've got
naughty-nice intel on a nigh omniscient level, you know where
everyone sleeps and you have a sleigh so fast

you can literally visit every home in the course of one long, rolling
24-hour 'Night.' Which has to involve time dickery! Plus...you have
all those TOYS.

Yet what greater good do you accomplish with it?
You sit on your ass 364 days out of the year (and a full,
luxurious 365 on leap years) while the real heroes die
in a hail of terrorist gunfire and improvised explosives!
Time to step up! Suit up! Get with the team!"

That's the pitch, and he thinks
about it, and pitches in. But then
halfway through he realizes he's
been guilt-tripped and manipulated
by a status quo not so nice as it poses,
and he turns around and fights the powers
that be. It's called Santa Claus 1: Batman
Forever 2!

Title needs work

OK if you suck

I'm okay with people sucking. 
Here's my rationale. From what
I can tell, most who suck -
they don't find it a problem!
I'm glad if so. I'd like it to cause 
no problem for them whatsoever. 
Nobody has to be like I like, and
I don't have to mind. So if they
don't mind and I don't mind they
suck, that's cool. It's 

no skin off mine, 
theirs, or ours.   

Well, meant

Woman, you could make that whole room
exist just by walking into it.
That was dumb.
Well hell I meant it though.

Mgmt issues

I went to lie down
because I was hungry. 
Then I got so hungry 
I couldn't lie down  
because I was hungry.
After a while I got
so tired of it I got up 
to get some food.

Then halfway through
I stopped making it because
I got pissed! Why am I making 
food because I'm tired! Tired
people sleep not make food!
Hungry people eat! They 
don't make food because
they're tired! Then I got 
sick of it
and pissed, 
and 
pretended
I was underwater 
and couldn't breathe,
and that was a far worse
problem so it was alright 
I went to lie down 

and when I woke up later 
man I was starving. But 
that was okay 'cause I 

wasn't tired, sick or pissed 
and I could breathe. 

I knew what to do 

Almost anything really

Hey man. If you met a girl 
woman, really. And she told you 
she was willing to do almost 
anything, really. So the use 
you put her to was a multi- 
prong option cock socket 
- because she was like, 
"Yeah, sure! You look alright" 
- what were you thinking? 

She told you she was willing 
to do almost anything, really. 
Did you even think? World 
peace? The climate situation? 
The gang problem? Nah. 

You genius.

You took one look and said
"These problems are beyond
any girl woman solution, 
really. But..." 

"...How about investigating 
the possibility of a short, 
medium, long term on 
request sexual convenience 
and pressure build relief 
release setup for my unit?" 

"She's got the potential! A real
satisfaction factory! A satisfactory,
ordering up and taking in erections,
processing them into orgasms? 

For us both?"

You genius. 

Admit it. You didn't even think 
what else she could do. Almost 
anything, really. This is the 
misogyny of low expectations, 
and the tragedy is, these specific
expectations 

are actually
highest-possible 
priorities imaginable 

to so many men 
boys, really. 

Even the ones who are like 
"She's the most amazing whole 
entire human being of full-facet 
worth I ever saw or met" in the next 
breath, if you ask "What do you want 
to do with her," they'd be like "baby 
factory!" or "full-on consensual coition 
expedition covering all possible mutual 
and reciprocal configurations of our 
bodies' in-out over-under all-around 
offer, gift, joint possession and
conquest options!" 

You genius. 

Now be fair. It's not gay guys 
or asexual guys I speak of. 
Mostly straight and some 
bi guys get this "tunnel 
vision" (where you know 
what "tunnels" I mean) 
when they see a girl 
woman, really and she's 
like 

almost anything, really. 

So you might object, 
"Why don't just gay 
and asexual guys exploit 
women's apparent willingness
to potentially solve all humanity's 
problems?" Well, 

their vision is constrained. Narrowed. 
Part of the same culture all of us are! 

They just don't think of it, because 
- due to the dominant paradigm, 
women and girls are really 
not presented in this way. 

It stunts us 
all, really  

ego picnic

you're kind of an ego picnic 
a big wicker gingham-lined 
basket of goodies and delicacies 
and a bottle of wine 
to soak in a convenient icy 
brook between stones 
as we pass the time.  

just in case it's true

Look. Just in case it's 
true, I eat everything on 
my plate I take. I try
to 

harm no one to add 
another load for Jesus 
sake. I tell

the truth in case someone 
might feel so wronged 
by me. My lie. The 
sense I get, they 
wouldn't mind 

if it were 
someone 
else. I 
try 

repair your dog with science

repair 
your dog 
with science 

you should know how 
because we are born 
luminous beings, 
and science is only 
light in the mind 

but 

do not touch the dog 
if this is your idea 
of how science works 

please take the dog 
in for repairs at a licensed 
dog maintenance science 

shop

or 
if there is nothing visibly 
or behaviorally wrong 
with the dog - eating, 
defecating, drinking 
and passing water, 

what's the problem? 
The dog is fine! Please
Do not repair your dog

with science

beeline

A line of bees 
in ordered row 
are streaming slow 
along the ground

from fro to to, 
away they come, 
and here they go,

each bops around 
in bumbling, but 
overall the march
is mesmerizing stuff. 

And at the end, 
they climb a tiny 
hill and go down 
tiny hole! In one
by one - oh, what
the hell! Who 

are these bees? 

Or are they ants?
Fresh from the hive 
with take-home kill?

A hive-mind rivalry 
mischance

Hey,

my natural response to who
you are, and all you've given,
and all you've shown, right
from the very beginning is
love.

And all through our time
it has only grown 

turnaround

I dream, but do not imagine 
sometimes being dragged 
from beneath by the feet,
then legs, by inch, by foot and 
yard to an early grave never 
dug, never plotted, just made 
in chance well-played. Well, 

thing?
Whatever you are? 
You can course underneath 
me and plan and scheme, 
but opportunities
seem 
thin on the ground
so far. Will 

you get me? 

I guess you could dream. 

the firing squad

They know a certain number of them 
are going to shoot blanks
but 
what they don't know 
is 
the guy with the gag 
(which they used the blindfold 
for. He wouldn't shut up) 
has forgiven only those 
whose bullets hit. 
Thanks

urban skating rink

Aliens would be like 

we're still studying this activity 

it may be another of the purposeless class 

it may also be training for something purposeful 

it appears to be a physical sociality and body health display
under deliberately coldnasty conditions. A bravado show
- further research necessary. God I hate this species

her haunted look

her haunted look 
of ghosts kept in 
and never spoken
of 
drags chains
across my floors 
and windowpanes, 
with never any evidence 

of strange

sweet talk backfire

"If you were any cuter, 
you'd be..." 

...expectant look, grin 
she gave, knowing my 
way with a winsome 
wile...

"...the cutest." 

Shock. "What? I'm not 
the cutest?" 

"I mean!" Look. "If 
you were a little cuter 
I think you could be." 

Fury pout: "Should I 
work on it?"

"Look, you're the cutest
person I ever saw or knew 
- not right now, obviously 
- above a certain age," I added 
hastily. To clarify! Not wanting 
to bring babies into this.

"So I'm an honorable mention 
in the old people category then?"

She was beginning to enjoy this. 
Me, at a steep disadvantage. "How 
young and cute do you prefer?"

This was unfair. She was bringing 
pedophilia into it on the sly! "Not 
at all!" I boomed in low, ringing 
tones of dulcet bass cello. "I'm just
saying, 

you know,
some babies are so damn 
cute it's obnoxious. You sweep
the adult category with ease
of all I've known and met!" 

"Why am I not the cutest, then?" 

"Well, one, I'm responsibly leaving 
a slot open in case there's anyone 
out there even you'd call cuter 
than you. What if you agreed
with me you're the cutest? Then
some rando supercute person
shows up - you're eating crow 
pie from my humble bakery!
I don't want to trip us both up
on a snap ranking." 

Her eyes softened, seeing the 
sense of this as she kept giggle 
spasming behind a deadpan 
façade. "And two...?" 

"Well...I gotta take points off 
for your ridiculous quibbling. 
Perverse false interpretations 
of my blameless intent here! Call 
that kind of behavior the cutest?"

Her voice dropped an octave, her 
eyes became shy. "Yes I do, and"

I hid my expectant look inexpertly

"...So do you, too. You thrive on 
bullshit accusation, moron." 

Oh. 

I had to admit she had me  

the monster awakes

The torch and pitchfork crowd 
is the real monster 
they arise aroused and banded 
together terrified and furious, 
impotent with rage 
to become something greater 
than the few or the one. 

To become Us. Mighty, 
and mighty scared alone, 
but together we are 

mad strong. 

The monster awakes, terrified 
and furious. 

In this case, we hope it's just
the one

one monster,
all the accounts
and rumors, terrifying us 
these past few nightmarish 
days, 

it all sounded like the same thing, 
one thing - beyond ken! Ken,
let's all admit it, is an asshole
but THIS thing! It scared us
beyond all admitting, and made
us feel scared. Weak about it.

Powerless.
Helpless. Welp,
here's an end to THAT

Because the only thing worse
than any It 

The only thing worse than Us 
Vs. Them, usually

is us vs. one. 

Us vs. It. 

Grab your pitchforks, boys 
I mean men. Oh sure, let 
the boys come along. Show 
them something. How men 
manage monsters. Well, 
monster, let's hope to God. 
Not plural! Hell, bring the women
- women and girls, could you
manage the torches? We're all
forked up, you could 

just sort of
strew yourselves through 
the mob, add a lurid glare. That's 
the stuff! All aboard, now 
march in the most disorderly 
fashion! A rabble! This is 
mob work, boys - men 
I mean. 

It's time to show the world 
plus this damn monster we 
hate, scared us so - 

who the real monster is. 

Any 
time 
we 
have 
to. 

It's us! Here we 
always are, and 
a moral to the story, 
maybe. If you're a 
monster, don't. 

Or if you can't not 
be a monster, just 
don't scare us, ok? 

We can't be good 
for you

derpy face look

You get this
derpy face look
I see it
in your pictures. 

It's 'cause your face
is on your skull. It's
shaped like 
bones
and features, yo.

So in this way,
despite your range
and subtle sweep emotionally,
your face is always
similar
to
my idea of you
I see
whenever 
I might look your way
in mind

You're always there for me. 
And then in mind, you
notice mine. But that's 

not quite reality, 

Is this normal yet?

A song came on. It was 
What Have I Done to Deserve 
This, with Dusty Springfield
and Pet Shop Boys
and as you do,
I imagined you

Stepped to me in
wracked duet and we
wrecked our hearts in
pirouette and sweeping 
grandeur of the dance, 
and striking pose, 

we sang like a bet
between heaven and hell
over which we'd get,

and we shone
and we wept
smiling and
dying. 

Whereas in real life, 
we'd never so much 
as practiced all that!  

Anyway, the song 
was done. My cheeks 
were wet. 

moving humanity

A human being 
is mostly able 
to move 

a human being, and 
we get so good at it 
we think 

we can move any
human being, but 

often that's just not 
so. It's mostly you 
who you can move, 
so, 
yeah. 
Work on that, and 
move yourself! 

Maybe some others 
will see it too 

wrong called right

I can say the right things, 
when called upon.
But if the right things
are wrong, 
I frown

And say the right things,
however wrong 

That's why I'm here 
To sing this song 

The second laugh

The worst sound in the world 
is laughter at another's pain. 
When you realize and feel
that it's sincere, since 
you couldn't imagine 
such shoddy gain. 

The greatest sound in the world 
is laughter at your own pain, 
when you realize and feel 
that it's sincere. Since 
you know probably you 
won't be hurting that way 
again. 

the real heroes.

When the first responders 
kicked in the door 
with shotgun, machine gun 
and bombs galore 
- they were the real heroes!
We startled and shocked 
as each of us sprang up, 
were beaten and shot. 
Then dragged from our home,
we could see the flames lick
as the troops inside, whom we
supported for this - kept kicking
and breaking the evidence, but
they got enough out to make sure 

the case sticks. 

Don't think this account is some 
cynical ploy! Some paean against
tyranny and bad joy for each good
girl and boy who signs up to be trained
in defense of us all. I do not here defame. 
You'll agree with me too: these heroes 
were real. Their actions adjusted and 
fit to bad deal. For what I don't say 
until now (and it's vile): someone 
in the house was a damn pedophile!

We probably all might have been, 
at that point. And that's what they say,
anyway.

Burn the joint.

technology sparks

Technology sparks 
a new development, 
and we all rush in to 
live our lives as exactly 
as we were, as we can 
- change-averse, indignant 
to suggestions of new is 
or could be better - but 
in crashing waves and 
coming storms of slow 
decay eroding norms 
our lives undergo a 
see change. 

We see change, and
note it has crept in like
a bucket surrounding us
all by drips and drabs, to
whelm us overspilling habit
and convention - even tradition!
And we are shocked and glad 

"Well, I hardly noticed! That 
wasn't so bad. Apart from every
wrenched kick, hiss and spit of
grudge adjustment it all went by 
so quick! Look how far and well
I myself have come, and become.
This is how I like it!" 

Technology Sparks! The 
latest app or perhaps site,
breakfast cereal or other
product or service. Try it!
You already have or
inevitably will. It's great!
You may think so! Warning: 

contains hate it at first 

Usage tip: don't notice! Or 
if you do, keep going until 
you don't

abandoned walk

We'd arranged to go for a walk 
that day.
You and I, side by side
for miles to stray,
ways we always 
do. 

But you 
couldn't go. 

And I couldn't sway. 
So the walk went on 
without us 
all day. 

proselyte reception technique

Soo smebody was like hey,
"Mind
if I talk 
to you about
our Lord & Savior?"

I was like hey "Knock yourself
out you can talk about YOUR
Lord & Savior all night! But
I've got mine and mine's
the best."

"Jesus Christ" they said?

"Don't blaspheme, CUR."
I intoned: "MY LORD 
will take care of you 
later for such slips!" 

"No no I mean - is your
Lord & Savior Jesus Christ?"

"Mind your business."
I intoned. "Just get on
with your sales pitch. We'll
see who's interested." 

Wait. Out of curiosity 
I asked, "Are you saying
yours 
is
Jesus Christ?" 

"Sure is," they intoned. 

"He's pretty great, isn't he?"
I broke into a broad grin: winning,
winsome - but with a sort of mysterious,
maybe mischievous conspiratorial leer
in it, the almost sneering superiority
of 'we in-the-know,' Lording around, 
Lording all over. A grin like that   
- like being in cahoots with some
stranger who thinks you are.

"So,"
I nodded indulgently. "Gimme your
best Good News pitch. I'll help you
tune it up a bit. Big time."

"snowrise"

in tints of palest grey to white
like dust of smoke from deep blank
sky fell blanketing and crystalline.
As thick as thieves of hues from eye.
The river bridge and trees surrounding
huddle frozen etched and dry in silver
on a glassy plate. It looks a hundred
years ago, as deep and colorless
as fate - and as we look we are bled
white. And feel how cold we aren't
inside. And smile as ghosts on
windowpane, unknowing which
side was alive.  

love is madness

After all, in each other’s arms
as thoroughly exchanged in trade
as limbs and other things between
have interlapped in interplay,
my risen pulse is cycling down.
Her risen breath is evening, and

she looks up, her head on chest,
and I look down, and so we sing:

“love is madness”

…in a weird asynchronous
atonal counterpoint which
is not harmony, but sounds
raw, wild and robotic like
some German blip rok forbear
could’ve used on one of their
art college collage punk pranks
of song.

We do it again, insistently:

“love is madness”

…wrong all wrong!
This time it sucked!

So we bust out laughing,
and she flips in to spoon mode
nestling back to front, and I
clasp around and down, and
alone with her now, I say

to myself:

“Love is madness.”

Shh

she says 

half passed

So that's what you do 
when you die 
You go up
out the top 
of your head, 
to get by 
and you find
a hallucination 
in time, in the instant
of conscious awarenesses' line
telescoping to total collapse.

It's a fact
that a second
turns into ten million
years you experience at a crawl 
in a flash: an eternity filled

with all your fears. 

Or
you know 
all your happy 
stuff! It depends
not on how you lived,
or how you end, but 

just what you expect 
as the lights go out. 
You'll expect it 
and get it forever 

no doubt. 

She asked do you like getting caught in the rain?

I like getting away in the rain. It's cool
if they try to catch me. I disappear
between the drops and they end up
standing there pissed, clutching their
vain umbrella while I scoot! It's 

my sweet rain trick

her several sides

Every woman has
an upside
and a downside,
and a girlfriend has
both. 
But don't figure
her out that easy!
Your girlfriend also
has a backside! If

you have a girlfriend, 
that is - check. 
You'll see.
I'm right.

If you don't, look
at the backside 
of every woman 
in the world. I have 
to be right about this, 
if you had one. She 
has a frontside, too - 
and you can combine 
sides for a nuanced 
view, with focus.
 
A lot of men check 
out the frontside 
upside on your 
girlfriend! She 
doesn't seem to 
mind. You get 
pissed! "Hey, pal!
Her eyes are up 
there!" "Pardon 
me, creep." he 
points out. "Her eyes 

are also
frontside
upside. Why 

did you assume I
eyed anything else?"

"Thank you!" she brightly 
explodes in exasperation,
with a look of rebuke
- to you!

"Wait" you think.
"Is the thanks
to me, the rebuke,
or...?" Or was it 
a look of reproach?

"You're welcome,"
you clarify heroically.
You prefer to look 
on the upside, but 
you're very aware 
of the downsides
all around you. 
She has hers, and 
it's fantastic

(front,
back
and
in-between)

the second fall

I fell

some time ago,
and 

everyone noticed, 
and nobody said 
a thing. 

I'm only noticing now. 
But surely they see me
noticing

The Tale of Woefarer II: An excerpt

His feet, then knees 
sank into the loam 
as if he or it were 
made of mist. With 
a barbarian shout, 
he sprang antlers 
from his forehead 
and grappled, clung, climbed 
his way out of the trap. "Nothing 
will delay my quest!" he stormed, 
his face aping the thundercloud pout 
of a toddler. His enemies, since 
there had never been many 
of them (he had never
been any good at 
making enemies) fled. 
He strode forth, his 
resolve as fluid and coursing 
as ever. There before him, 
he stopped. The object 
of his quest. What the hell
was it? "This better not 
be one of those quests 
where you have to go 
on another quest to find 
out the secret of the thing
you got the quest 

before," he warned. 

Thus warned, he set about 
figuring out how to pick 
this thing up and transport it 
back to the quest-giver. She 

would know.
She was wise. "Damn it!"
she cried. "What the hell
is that?" "Uh," he explained,
lamely. "The object

of the quest?" 

No. 

a thing for nuns

I never had a thing for nuns
except for Sister Joan, and 
in retrospect it was she was 
the youngest nun I ever saw 
and played guitar, and sang 
for us. But even then I knew 
the truth of nuns: she 

was no nun 

She was a sister. Nuns 
are cloistered. Same habits
maybe. Different order, or
wing. So no, 

I never had a thing 

parallels perpendiculars

Intrigued as I am by the possibility 
implicit in myself, and by what I 
almost represent, ultimately I have 
to say any shortfalls are unimportant. 
I basically am me. and no matter what 
I had done, it would still be now

as it always is. Was. Possibly
shall be? All those years would have
passed regardless, same or differently, 
leaving me who knows where. Verdict?

I care! I could almost mind, but 
I don't see any reason to. Pretty good! 

fireworks  

no kid

When I was a kid, being a kid
used to take up all my fucking 
time. It was what I did. I wasn't
playing either. Serious. Well
I mean of course I played games, 
but that was most serious of all 
sometimes. Depends. Anyway 
when I got grown up, I started 
kidding around! Bullshit! It's like 

I forget what it was like being 
a kid. That grim focus on year 

eighteen, saying "just get there. 
All will be great. Ice cream 
anytime, spaghetti every night 
if I want, nobody can stop me 
from anything!" So when I got 

there, it all came true of course. 
And there wasn't anything to be 
serious over except shit that 
happened in the world. Bad. 

Meanwhile in my own life, 
I became sincere instead 
of serious, and I never 
looked back until 

just now

appreciator

This is dense with clarity.
It defeats the mind on first
reading, yet a closer read
suggests farther and further
detail, receding, glimmering
in distance until finally one
is lapped. Tackled from behind!
Its sense beaten into one by the
relentless, stratified layers of
meaning this vigorous, brutal
yet staid plainsong prose brings
so hard to bear. 

I am a fan.
I declare
kudos.

Life advice

Set-to in school. Fight for your right
to some education, but prop one eye
lazily wide open upon futures all the
while. You'll see when you're there,
now - big time! Crop up a bumper’s
worth of foolproof fantasy job titles
that fit your general description!

Accept every one of them!

Throw yourself into the business, do
your level best to blow education and
expectation away. I mean your own.

It’ll be possible to blow by others on
this, as they weren’t even expecting
such things to begin with - let alone
from you! Give ’em time, once they
get to know you, they’ll look forward
a bit. Readier, perchance. En garde!

As the fencemasters used to say, sitting
between two yards and whitewashing the
barrier - a picket line indeed, but with one
chief nuisance: due to a trick of the light
(which you’d be quick to catch), the grass
looks as green on either side as they other
used to! No wonder those fencemasters are
so quick with the brush.

Whitewash heightens everyone’s colors
to lush hues. Bravo!

I hope.

Anyway, make the hard work noise 
for real, with zeal but don't lose sight 
of why you make it. It's the leisure 
noise, right? That's where creation 
finds its recreation, and we arise
anew, all ready to reeducate 
and fight. 

Not in a violent way, ideally. But 

sometimes in life, we need to upheave

you'll know when it's right. When 
the time comes. 'Til then, don't 
believe. Just know how you 
can't be deceived.  

Feel out your everything

Feel out your everything-that-is possible self,
and bolt with a start through the gap
with all the best attributes
of you in tow,
jangling and clattering!
Stop home! Nap, shower
and change your outfits! Mix it up,
hone your style and taste

- in all ways, do.

Best you are. As you’re strolling
along feeling good love for the whole universe
and everyone proceeding equally immortally through it
(as you guessed) AS YOU GUEST! Even before
my invitation, you guessed it all, eh? Huh?

I bet! Are you a big seer overall, or just a bit
of an amazingly accurate make-believer? Smh
(I shake my head) in wonder of you, so why
not undertake a moment for some fancy fun?

You know what that means. Make a mockery
of your strongest weak points! Your weakest 
strong points! Learn to lead with vulnerabilities!

Mine, as you see, is meekness. 

Begin right now,

Begin right now, in the middle
of an already well-begun, lovely
woven tapestry, to engage with
and enter into the narrative as
a creator and owner, take full
responsibility starting logically
with the most solid foundations
of science and history you can
manage to unearth - dig mightily

all through the neighborhood’s eerily
dogless yards and naturally, proceed

from there to how you feel. Because
you’ve done the hard work. You can
trust how you feel now. Pretty good,
right?

Honest work, skulking like a thief in
broad daylight to open up foot-deep
portals to nowhere in the rich, dark
loam your neighborhood is famous for,
regionally. Out in a sweat under the sun

like that, you feel new appreciation
of the very air. Trust it. No

Trust your mind

My guess

Cheeze Whiz should partner up
with Cool Whip and come out
with Cool Whiz. It
would be the inaugural
product launch in a whole 

offering of sprayable food. Pots
Whiz (poe tay toes), a whole subline,
basically think flavored mashed potatoes
only not so hot - Pringles may weigh in
providing their trademark flavors. Picture
blasting soft ranch, nacho cheeze or sour
creme and onyon false potatoes directly
in your mouth. 

Spam Whiz (another brand giant storms
the synergy stampede!), Wonder Whiz (why
NOT spray-can whitebread?), and finally

when the public is about out of their minds
with all the convenience glory: WHIZ WHIZ.
Which would be...hinted at as kind of a secret
proprietary mix of other Whizzes?

And you could taste the flavors in there, but
there's definitely some inscrutable other taste
in there, and yep: it's people.

One slogan could piggyback on the whole Tang
mystique by claiming: "Whiz Foods! The kind
of stuff an astronaut might use!"

My guess is this is already happening

the dish on treats: chili episode

 you like your chili hot
or thermonuclear?
With beans? Or
with meat?

I like mine
full on bean thermonuclear, but
the day after - the leftovers are all ready
in the freezer, formed into bricks, with
a popsicle stick in the end. So cold.

So delicious.
So intense-torture hot
as the taste thaws on
your tongue so cold,
though. And who the HELL
ate my PLUMS?!

Carlos.

Such exquisite torture, the freezing
intolerably into unbearable heat
for your own delectation! Ever
get your tongue stuck
going in too soon on a cold lick
at a full on thermonuclear bean
chili pop torturesicle? Because

you know
if you haven't,
cold dulls taste buds right? Or
is supposed to anyhow. This "treat"
puts theory to the test! Cold 

turns out to be a mitigating factor.
Could be true, hurts like hell either
way, but how will you notice yourself
if you aren’t always licking new things?

Clean things.

Wholesome things.

Anyway, don't bother if your answer 
was meat. Meatsicles lose their juicy 
virtues when you try to lick 'em up 

frozen on a stick. 

In clarification,

in practical terms
you don’t want to call it
“semantics.” People

will not take your meaning.
Use your words, yes, but
it carries best if you also use 

ours.

That’s the benefit for the individual!
And in the primacy of the human rights
of the individual, the benefit of the individual 
is the greatest good of all! For we are all that 
plus a bag of dicks, I mean, bag of chips. Well,
kind of a grab-bag

really. Chips, dicks
- this is not secret news,
we all know

what’s in the big party snack size bag
of society.

It’s not like
we really need the label, WARNING: 
contains nuts.

Yeah. Yeah, we 
found that out already 

sex problematic!

Staunchly raunchy on the make 
by shameless give of all you'll take 
this blameless, never-changing one's
integrity is tits ass bum and genitals 
up-front galore! Some fry stinkeye! 
Some beg for more! Yet what of this 
society is any fault of you?
Nor me

It's not us all. It's just us each. So 
do your part for you and preach! 
If that's your kink - then practice 
it! You could do more, I'm sure
than just
find

fit.