mic drop.

When I battle emcees 
and they drop the mic 
I snatch it up before it 
hits the floor like a bike 
shooting off of a loading 
dock ramp like a train 
except I'm on it flying out 
steady pedalin' VAIN

BECAUSE I don't do the 
mic drop move myself, I 
just watch the opposition 
and rely on stealth, so when 
the sucka drops the mic 
I'm on mic swoop mode 
like a toad! With a goad 
to grab mics by the load 
and drop such heavy-freighted lyrics
it might take ten docks
worked overtime to get 
so much tip to the top fresh
not out-of-stock rhyme palleted up, 
shoved way into the trailers 
getting tractors hooked up 
for the long, long trip heading 
out nationwide  

Then I'd fly by on a bike 
like I'm right to ride 
Like a dock jumping fool 
heaving forklift blades
from the front of my bike 
instead of that granny basket I have 
but I have it in spades, which is cool,
but those blades 
would be like BOOM LIFT FORCE

for the freight my rhymes pack, 
ship, drop at your doors and just 
split before you hear it: "DING-DONG" 
said the bell! Better not drop yo' mic 

'cause I bike like hell

All Aim.

It seems I am all aim, 
and all intent, and so 
therefore: I've none 
deliberate. And none 
consideration, unless, 
except: in retroact by 
restrospect, a hindsight 
gained by booted rear! 
Direct address, from 
what I hear (far more 
than read) (but there's 
that, too, especially 
here). I mean I say 
in one-to-one: 

direct response. 

It's how I'm done.
That's how and why 
I talk like that. It's hard 
indeed (or statement, please!)
to be precise to one-to-many 
everyone! It's only give-and
-take, in back-and-forth free 
gift and intercourse, whereby 

Ah. Ahahaha. 

'He said "intercourse!"' WHAT 
a BUTT HEAD huh huh 
huh huh huh duh 
huh 

duh-dumb-tsh

important note

Great minds discuss
ideas. Small minds
discuss, um, wait.
Wrong. Ideas, events
...people? But what's
in-between great and
small minds? MEDIUM
MINDS DISCUSS
EVENTS?

That sounds asinine. Like
they are psychics! Predicting
events! Mediums. Is the plural
of a psychic medium still "media"?

Horses sweat, great minds think
alike, men perspire, girls glow, and
aggression - passive or otherwise - is
duh like whoa. Curiosity kills the cat, but
let us not forget it was the highly-adaptive
curious nature of the cat that got it its nine

lives in the first place!

Evolution by means of natural selection, peoples,
surely. Or if you doubt me - by what other means
can you suggest these eight extra lives might be
explained? Curiosity is super-adaptive as a trait!

The foregoing remarks are only here
to illustrate how delicate a topic can be. How easily
it can derail. The moral being: please, don't.

Due process

The future
will never come to pass, because
the present
will always be in its way. But 
the present can't last! 

Or rather: it does. 

Only forever 
this now comes, 
because. 

I quit in protest

I quit in protest of 
a muched-belove 
critic's exclusion 
over a one-word 
critique left 

on my piece. 

There is nothing 
unnatural or inapropos 
about a one-word critique 

even if the word is hot. 
Has anyone got 
a better-suggested 
or more-or-less 
sanely-moderated 
option upon which 
to post my poems? 

If not, 
consider this not 
a quitting in protest, 
for 

it is not strictly 
autobiographical, 
as about none of 
my poems are. 

Consider it a 
mood

Vastless

Out here on the beach, 
the biggest in town, please 
check out my huge two 
stony legs 

and wherever my torso's 
got to, GUESS

it is huge and buff 
and my head's a peg 
by comparison, yet 

one well-cut jib. LOOK

on my mighty-as mighty
-ass works, as trembling 
as they are on time! As 
trembling as ye may be, 
MAH MANS and mah 
womans and persons 
and kids! GOT RHYME?

Well, rhyme's a disorder 
or ordering trick, that is 
without reason leading 
up to it. For I 

am 

Ozzy "Mandy" ASS

(no I'm not, not really
but as emcee names 
go: LEGIT, arguably
not 
or 
so)

I'll and/or it'll 
pass. 

Resolved!

My implacable wit once 
more shall win more rue 
than days can fill. 

Begin? 

Differences between agony

The course of love, true,
never did run true enough,
didn't it. Deep! -  or did it?
Well, in this case, (ours)
(or: once was): true, it did.

But hindsight is perfectly
20/20, 180 and 360 degrees
awful considering how untrue
some of what I said did, and
what you thought didn't do,
and of course (naturally)
in the interlap between 
the two, where we lapped 
each other's wounds 
and bound them to
a point even more 
wound-up, twisted 
and inflicted, so we 
leaped back and kissed 
hurt itself; we soothed each
other half to death and as usual 

did not make up,
since up
cannot truly be made. Up
is a relative value with no
real
direction
except where both stand
on some same ground
and agree to crane
their necks, perchance
to see, or reach their arms,
perchance to interleave fingers
or leave hands be? Clasped, 
or just touched by tips 

However it was, how it is:
"we" end up drifted apart
for  
you see 
we never address 
the fundamental, 
troublematic 
point! Do

we?
One or both of us sadly
doesn't even know
/couldn't say what it
is.
/was. So,
under such
dire conditions
as those, how could
we expect love to conquer 
anyone?

Let alone all, 
let alone 

you.
Me. Either. Or both, or 
ideally - each? Trust me, 
we were always in reach. 
Us. You know that now, I see
you see I know that now, too.
"Us": was always right here, 
right now, and now 

we know that for a fact, 
and so,
it hurts more than ever 

how. 
Will you go? 

How will you go? 
Drive through the wind 
and the rain, again. 

Cover it up. Cover it 
up. There's no more 
to see your direction, 
my end, your steady 
shine and everlasting 
bend. There's no song 
left to steal, not to seal 
this deal over and over 
again. For real,
or not for real: 

I am. 
So are you. 

So we were. 

So true. 

Past tense is one hell
of a drug, if you can't take
it anymore. And heedless 
of hope, regardless of all belief: 

you can't.
You can't take that 
away from we, for neither 
can I. As we both now see

No, you.

There's just a thing 
or two I have 
to say to you. 

One is "you" 

The other is 
"suck." 

The third is not 
(if you please) 
"please," but 

if you must, 

go.
Go
Please
yourself. 

six simple machines

The block of head
by edge of tongue 
and screw of heart 
hang pulleys swung, 
set ramps ablaze 
and levers skewed. 

I can't recall the other 
two, or if I could, 
I'm not inclined 
so plain, 
it seems. 

So much for brain, 
now what it means 
I leave to us, or me 
or you. A bit in trust

which could be vain.

"Charades" (after Austen's Emma) #None.

My first intends a thing I couldn't know; 
My next is just to say I told you so. 
Combined we find a sense so obvious, 
Ironically, at least, it can't be just. 

lullaby trumpet

May sleep gather you in
with the softest embrace
and forgetfulness wash
all the cares from your face,
as the dreams of the night
take you where you most wish
to be held by the light
and caressed with a kiss.

May the love of your life
beat more strong in your breast
than a pessimist army could hope
to contest, and when night quits
the field, and the birds sound
their call, may you wake
to a dream, and your life
conquer all.

boat pole conundrum

I want to go where there's canals
and pole my boat right up the locks

and then, just stand there quizzical

I don't know what's next!
what a shock

Open dream journal #12: reality hut island

I had the most bowdlerized/public
tv broadcast edited-for sex
dream I ever had.

I was on

an island

with myself,
this babe I'm into
(None of you, 
please, breathe
easy don't worry),
and many (like elebenty
-two) other "single people."

It was like a reality show
except in the dream,
none of it
was being filmed or
recorded. I don't
know

if it was supposed to be some
whack-ass group therapy vacation
package or what! But

what it amounted to was: everybody
had their own luxury hut
to which they could retreat OR
open invitation, and people
were basically
alternating between

chillaxing solo

in the luxury hut
(to each their own)
and/or a lot of HOT
HUT HOPPING, only
as noted before:

My dream standpoint for all
of
it was
LONG LOVING
EXTERNAL SHOTS
of occupied huts, even if

I was in the hut! Like,
I'd see me going in, I'd see
me in the hut with the specific person,
and then
it was like JAMES
BOND LOVE! IT'S
OBVIOUSLY ON! 

Fade to black

Until finally me and the person
I actually knew ended up in somebody's
(hers or mine, don't know) HUT. NOW
IT'S ON

RIGHT?

WRONG

Tons of deep n' heavy kiss an'
cuddle and some kinky disrobing
action going on, but then FADE

TO BRIGHT LIGHT! I woke up

Typical

certain words mixed up

I'm always getting certain
words a lil'
mixed up: salient, sapient,
sentient,
seminal

Mind you, it isn't as if
I don't know what they each
mean, or even that I've ever
(necessarily, actually) picked
the wrong one in use, but

soft. But still.
There's a sticky-slick
tinge between that explains,

perhaps, perhaps

Why I never call myself
"sapiosexual," and
for that matter,

WHY I'M NOT.

Anyhow, that term
should properly not
refer to a sexual
attraction to "intelligence,"

but rather, to wisdom.

Now we're talking
the hot, sticky stuff

Hopeful yet unhelpful note.

It isn't pain 
if it doesn't hurt. 
It isn't suffering 
if you can or could 
stop it swift, easy 
and costless to any
one at any time. It
could be agony or joy 

- Have you checked? 
It's not okay 

Unless it's fine. 

Well,
you draw your own line.
Consider that mine. I hold 
a high bar for what I'll call
fine, but I'm okay with that.

Call it in the air, or flat
smack
on the table,
by hand. Like
we always used
to say, when asked
(and we had no better
answer pre-planned):

"I'm okay. I'm 
Going To Be OK." 

OK? Then that's-that,
hot dog or too-cool cat. 
(Or will be) that. A fact, 
so shake off your fur,
dry and pat. 

How I hint: a finder's key:

"How I hint: a finder's key:"

I don't. Assumption #1:
and fair and true most 

every time, with me. 

I do not mean to be 
obscure, obtuse, or 
ever come across
as mystery, 
puzzle, con-
undrum. I'm not 
a game! Not won
or to be lost except!

By exception. By who
you are in what you really
give, and how. Which
has no rules but those
you pull out as you live, 
and breathe, and choose 
to give! ALLOW. 

Choose well or wisely,
or unwell, unwisely: BAM!
Yours to present!
Perchance well-drawn! 

How fine that is! We give
and find a boundary,
then.

I'll never have my fill
of those, for there's a line.

How handy, that! It can be

Fine
as finest things,
or clear as mud itself,
and splat. And trust me 

mud is pretty clear 
when you step in it, slip 
and plop.  

So. I like lines 
that others give:  
laid out and limned 
by point or plot  
on-point and there.
Right here, right now.  

It works sublime.   

I like them now, I like them
then, I like them when.
I like them clear, 
presented, friend. All good, 
all free, so as to show your  
boundary! Which is to say:

to show where I am welcome,
when by clean, clear plotted, well-dug
ditch or any border marker fits - perhaps
a fence! "No welcome there, past this,
SO SIGNED" (a fence works fine,
sighted or blind)

Yet if that part's excluded, out,
so much more welcome, tends
to find and found, be found and
founded everywhere, or else.   
We draw the line. "Elsewhere,"
or so, to coin 
a mat.

And plop it out by many 
splats, by many doors, and 
gates, and subtle signs, so
saying "Come on in!"

How like a flat, apt., or house, some 
homey, homely good abode! Tells me
by mat, and frame and jamb 
whether that door is open/closed.  
The door is one open-shut case 

to say what's so. It sits right there!
It clues you in, by bell or knock,
each time and more, that's if
you care and dare. So long! 
As one can give
the line
that one wants you 
to take, observe,
a simple twist of direct-
met or on-point swerve.  

And we can find each other, 
thus. 
Well, as to mine, 
my own? My lines?
Oh hey,

I find no need to fuss, 
when I so trust another's serve!
For me. For we are free
in who

We'll choose as company,
as friend. As bare acquaintance
or just mere! Perhaps
some other role intends?
Well, pitch it out. We'll
comprehend. Perhaps

Some other act
(I mean an ACTION, here)
can signify? In crisis, we all do 
our best. Or try

to, hey. 
We're on-the-fly. What's
more, it's just as well
if one
-to-one we
pair in how we'll dwell (for
all intense or peace-n'-calm,
or any purpose-plain to cast, 
from subtle-nuanced well-
knocked BRASS to simple,
clear as courtesy:

or class. That's categorical.
Half-full, half-open or thrown
wide. We have our ways 
to come inside, and if unsure, 
to ask how-why. 

The other's turn, in their response 
shall be some key, if we care why. 
Including non-response. It counts! 

That is if we hold free our friends,
or who we'd want to be. Free 

just never ends, you know.  

It goes as each and both prefer.
As each agree, apply, concur.
All this is by necessity:
a matter of agreement,
free.

All given and received as same
by either side, or functionally! 
A similar-enough grasp/hold,
each way from each to each, 
all told. OR ELSE: has there
been some mistake? We're free 
as well: to dive in, shake 
up/down or fix and sift, 
as each shall square away
or air, or breach! Freely
engage, or not. To make
it right, or so, find true. 

For sake. That's any
some same sake (or
close enough) in interplay.  

Two each-own calls
with two potential
vetoes, no expiry
in such voter's stalls.

Agreement is as good as one
plus one. Found same, in some 
point/line. Oh, me?

I mean to be straightforth.
Which is: right plain, direct
address with clarity on course
-correction mode, and cued 
by any/all who care to dare, 
or opt-out y'all.

Alacrity! Like horse on steed!
Or thrown upon the rider's 
bleeding corpse, at need 
(such capers hurt, but 
worse if we pound 
dead to dirt what 
ought to have been 
chosen ways. Or 

so I find. So so 
I'll say. Or so
I aim all worth. Not short.
Not playing dumb at all, but

possibly: just dumb.

By you, I'll take that finding,
call it found and founded, and
back out or in, or as we each
shall draw or line or please
or preach. For you, regardful 
what you think and say

have more than say 
alone can teach. 

Dumb is,
or could be
well and truly
how I am, in how
you'll say. That's squate
in your regard. Whatever you
may not or might speak
out, suspect or recollect:  

I don't PLAY dumb. 
"SCREW THAT YARD!"
is all I'd yelp from/to 
such porch as uppily 
declares pretense 
upon me as I'm 
walking by: more 
ignorance than 
innocence itself. 

Perhaps I AM,
dumb, just! 
That is, if you'd say
dang or heck, or damn, 
or shit, or fuck.

I mean, if you
get mad and cuss! 

SOME CLUE.
If what I say IS dumb, 
to you, then maybe I
am, too.

Too true.
Or could be, any way. 
No fuss. I know that your idea
of me is some thing in your
head. Not mine. So I will 

keep you equally free, 
and let "us" be, or be not 
sublime. Be dead! Or gone!
Or be
alive as one, or just as two
may be: both free. If
what I say
speaks many tongues
(to you), 0 hey. 
Or signs, too many
to appear, to single
out or count? Which means
for you, some tough read-ins 
galore? 

Well, that's sure fine as well,
as signs and warnings flow
and score.

Pick one interp and lay it plain,
that's if you wish to tell, to show.
To see what's-what and more! To see
what we can see. For sure, you'd
call me dumb
if I don't know
you're free as I to
make, take, fast. Or slow
and dense, if doing THAT's
beyond my compass, or my
sense. Come on. Grow up, 
get through, go past if I am so,
so dumb! DUMB ME 

We'll-see. I am! I'll say, if
you call me dang slow.
'Tis fine by thee, and 
I don't mind where
intuition (oh, mine
own) soars too dang
free in fancy's costume
cape cosplay, and spanking 
birthday suit! That cape's 

a sign to me! It is or works 
quite all-the-better to obscure its
OWN ASS MOVE for fancy's
sake!

If back leaps forth a step
too soon, too late, I'll hold push
free to come, to shove.

When motive flops a take,
imagined into meaning's lap,
that's some dog trick! I might applaud,
but hardly cheer. Perhaps one clap. 

Just listen, love

- I might just stick.
So please, do
call me
too slow/dense 
for any of that,

all its worth
can value up,

by your own
sense. In lights you find,
by scales you weigh. And
huge top hat! Why not?

Some play! Pull out! From
all of that, that's in. Or 
can be, truly

if I seem dense
to you, tough gal, tough
guy or gentleperson: then 
it's 'cause I am. One of my
own sweet and equal peeps
abob, adrift or full-on sail
in such free beingship as flies
upon subjective seas, capsized

- or so I'd say, if you don't
tell me 
how or why

you're not such being. 

I'm open expectation, there.
I promise no pretense is due 
from me, for you to fair accuse
me of. UNFAIR, I'll say! 
To say or claim "pretending"
stupid, dense, or dumb! 

Not
me!   

I'd rather let it go,
let time pull trust through 
growing size, or sighs, or
sights, or deep rich loam,
perchance to root. To bloom. 
Or grow blind on the spot! If
as some say, love takes the room
and installs blinds. Or...strikes 
one blind! Like staring up
too high at noon
can do

on an uncloudy day.   
For that is I! THAT I
can say! My can-do
know-how attitude!

It's not pretense, no acting
role. It comes to fores as dense
as grow and slow as juggernaut
on speed: a low-slow, wary 
dreadnaught mode, for pace
not greed. Such plod, such
plop! Such booming step!

SO SLOW, 
shoes drop.
but sure enough of coming course,
quick to correct, if clarity/correction
comes. Or so I aim.

If you can give. You might 

be quite surprised, and live! 

In all such things as "reads between"
such lines I DON'T give (left unsent,
unspoken, left ungiven) prudence
counsels caution to hold up. Find 
what's meant by direct inquiry, 
or offer your own: come correct.

Oh, I am slow in my defense
or by advance, for further fines
and fairs, and/or a general use, 
as one might reckon and suspect. 

Use that. No hint. No wink.
No sign. No "tell" - at least
that is a pure, strong bet
and bound to pay in luck's
sweet stakes. I take
what you give 
literal.
Not "literally," 
dead-literal!
And so 
sincere.

Why not? All 'tis 
is simplest, easiest 
course, in small
and easy things.
No knot, except 
to hold where both 
agree, and easy 'nuff 
to pull and slip. 

For that's the world 
we find and see. 
And anyone can just 
jump 'ship, in any 
relation ship kind.  

And if you're not?
Sincere, I mean! Then  

Away we go. 

Just watch your back 
if I'm not here. 

I told you so.  
For it is true.
I much prefer and
usually always aim
to say: up-front, and back 

is clean. "Unsaid" is no fair hand
to bet or lay, or play on me. 

For me! I mean. Of course. 
For you? 

Just give. Just let. Shine you, 
and I'll keep up, or catch
up best I can, and
live. 

For no one has to be
like us, and no two have to 
make an "us." Capisce? 

Free gift. Is always stringless, at its 
best. And if so, free: is always just. 

And that's the end. What's obvious
might bear repeating, now and then.
Soliloquy has petered out, to eat 
paul's dust. 

We just say when. 

My daily diet

For breakfast, a big, tall 
coffee, twice filled. Today 
with cream, it fit and hit
the bill. 

For second breakfast
(sometimes skipped,
just as with first) a BIG, TALL
(pint glass) MILK and one
of those flat, thin granolas. 

A granola bar of some kind. 

You know the kind
I'm sure 

For lunch, oh hey, we'll have 
to see. Yet probably 
it will be bread 

with something kept between. 
- SURPRISE! 

And as to dinner: visualize. 
And so to bed, and quick. 

So naturally, this diet
today is/was no thing
like yesterday's course.

Yet hopefully, I say  (I'd
say!) I'll hit my marks 
each time! With force!
Like steed! Not John
Steed, by the way
- the deadliest man in
the service - yet more
like a gallant and noble
steed: A HORSE, to gallop
on various capers, to jump,
to plod at need, or just 
haul ass! Pronto and
Galore, would be 
my carriage team, 
if both were me. 

Hard work at need,
and fuel up fine. An apple,
sounds alright just now

for me and mine, in fact!
Why not?

With sugarcubes thrust
in its (corèd) core!

Divine, sublime, and/or 
fine fare for any horse
I'm sure, or do suppose
(one does, one knows), plus
ample hay, in sun or rain,
or plenteous grass. Bit sweet 

for me, but then 

I don't endorse

I am not/cannot (usually)
beat a horse, or be that ass
-inine, lest I then be obliged

to clap or chap or even kick
that ass. Not yours! 

I'm sure it's class. 

kinds-of spiders

The Brown Recluse
is champ of fears.
I've seen the real
mccoy, plus pics!
Of recluse, and the
damage it inflicts
on flesh, not by
ill-will, but usually
only when/if pressed.

Please don't, my
dears. You're better
off, and so am I.

The Widow's bite
brings pain in mind!
But thankfully never
in flesh (mine). I see
its carmine, scarlet sign
and sigil well. It quite
stands out, that’s if
you know quite where
to look. I do! No doubt!
I see, I spot, and so I bless
its predatory web, so pitched
in sails to catch the ripened breeze
and flying insects, in its spell
so ease

-ily, it augurs well
for Widow's peaks of fuel
and strength, and bodes aplenty
more bodies, galore to come
in Widow's broods, by Widow's eggs
in time's brief stretch, and then again
but please, kids -
- not on me!

So far,
so good
so what.

Some other kinds I have
for sure,
but I don't know
them
well-enough
by sign to name
each every one,
or kind.

No game
for me, that studied
figured-out and catalogued
eye-traipse through arachnid
bestiary. So I just bless!
However just.

They make a living,
seems to me,
at pleasant and appointed task!
(to them, perchance)
(I make no claim)

and weave respective webs
by dance, to shake in waves
of invitation's grace
By stretching bull's-eyes which
encircle out,
alas

to me!

I often plow
right through such things.
I am (as many maddened
spiders find) a force
of nature, that

they can't quite
spot coming, account for,
thwart, or oft foresee. For
in my ways and sway,
sometimes,

their webs surround.

And dumb-as me, like
dumb-ass flying bull
or bug, I do succumb
to treachery of tangled
webs enough, and they
get down! And I will flail
and say "EUEUUGH"!

My luckless after-battle
cry. Don't cry for me,
eight-legged bay-bay.

Just passing through
Just me, kind friend
-ly neighborhood
web-slinger! Yes, it
is I. Your ne'er sworn
never-foe, in this, our
passing chance to try.

If I had seen

you

or IT,

you know, I would have
given wide-as birth
a great broad berth
for you to spin.

I didn't.
SORRY.

"So what?"

All.

It's all that I can-do.
And what it's worth,
I leave to you.

Down to
and including everything.
Up to and including
nothing.

I don't judge
spiders
in
any inimical way,
just occasionally webs.

If you lil’ peeps can build one
much more visible,
probably you'd starve.

If you could build one
large, sticky and hard
enough to stop me plowing
through unawares and pulling
the whole thing down, if you
could weave it strong
enough to catch me in

- good luck with THAT last meal!

I bet, suspect and reckon it would be,
for one of us. And that’s
no sin.

Spiders
are our friends,
you know. That’s if we hate,
dislike or loathe, avert self
from (or disagree with) all
the various bugs, insects,
and such small things they prize
to prey upon, and live.
And stay alive.

Therefore, I here presume:
a given spider is our friend,
so long as it builds
and spins OUTSIDE.

In the ENVIRONMENT.

Where such things belong!
This goes double and triple
for ants, by the way.

Disowned OR: Into The Void

Please not to dive too deep
or seize too hard, firmly or
insistently upon something
I put, which I then declare
overthrown and disowned
by mine own mind and
heart, subsequently.

I sent it, then unsent it, so
that meant it stank.

I discovered its scent
in a fuller tasting swallow
was bull shit or bird seed,
at any rate nothing to dig
a hole and drop in. Nothing
fruitful can germinate from
the disowned wooden acorn
I carved and tossed, or rolled
down some way wherein you

…stood, caught, or perhaps
stooped to examine.

When I disown something, there is
approximately zero (0) percent (0%)
chance it is "how I REALLY feel", and
zero chance it is "what I really THINK."

No, it is void. Annihilated when I disown
it, for I first fully-owned it, and only then
found it cracked, busted wide open and flying!
In a sphere of diminishing sharpnel... . .. . ..
. . . . .
. . .
.
. .

.

Feel free to claim otherwise, but
cite your basis and supporting detail.

I suspect and reckon you'll find
you staked your claim in air,
and have been hovering
there ever since like
a wily coyote,

oblivious to the long,
far,

fall

you seemingly crave.

"Meep eep!"

ERR ERR

True in each sense tried.

It is true that
in a sense, I am no
greater than any
other poet (online)

but

...that's just a guess,

...and I may be less.
In a sense, or is that spelled
"innocence." No, no

it's spelt with an IG.
Nor

-ance.

Or anyway, it might
well mightily,
meekly be, and

I never could math
that
kind of

dense.

like a stone, twice

I drop like a stone
and become a smash
smacking deepening slow
to click and clash on the stones
others threw, or have thrown
through the years.

At the base of this pond,
there's a cairn for tears
or for wishes, or whims

so many stones skipped
over surfaces bright or dull,
dim, splash-tripped in a casual
arcing lob or a hard-flung
toss. There are different techniques

and no loss

So I drop like a stone
and become a smash
splashing out to a ripple,
a wave, to crash on the farthest shores
past horizons unplanned

at least it seems so
from here, where I stand.

Sub-poem note

There's some arhythmic dissonance
-no. Try again.

There's some jumble and slip
in the third stanza's meter

- deliberate.

Whether it works or not IS
equally valid in the call of each
individual. I am adamant about this:

my judgment does not, cannot overrule
or outrank the judgment of any individual
in the matter or effect of a poem of mine.

We are each-all-own equal in judgment.

That’s a demonstrable fact, but I digress

ways to not fly

I used to wait
until some new idea struck, 
then tried it out exhaustively. 

When as a kid: with flapping motions
of one's arms more vigorous than any
bird's, I stood and stood
in various backyards.
I tried and flung myself
into it by both hands: two
beating flaps! Like sticks
without a drum
and  

No result!
Just looked absurd. 

The trick
was in the rhythm, 
though. I couldn't ever 
catch that groove.
You can't get any
altitude

the way I so completely 
proved. 

So: running leap in empty
lot! A flat-out shot tiptoe
to fingertips! One shot, one leap
by jolt of faith to make a javelin
that slips so far through empty air!
Until, until...
The bolt one makes
has knocked  

the wind
out of itself, 
to skid to halt
in dirt and weeds. 
It finds its place
on painful ground,
like one's own fault,
so many times. 

So I had found.
Or at least three.  

Or: one fist up, one pulled back 
in, like Superman, except 
he wins. While I just hop 

about with one knee up

So it begins, 
so it proceeds: 

no progress, though. 

(At least I never used
a cape. I knew by then
the cape was not the key.) 

(I also wisely kept
my efforts and attempts 
all set quite low. Ground
-level to begin! I could just
tell somehow: to jump
from off a roof, or some
high place could never boost
my lift in space.) 

(Yes, reason is a gift
with which I'd always felt
back then
I'd been 
endowed.) 

So past a certain point, quite
young, I knew my chance was up
and done. By pretty early in the trials,
I allowed as how I wasn't getting 
anywhere: and moreover: I wouldn't!

Since (you see) I reasoned, judged, observed:
none of these tricks and methods worked
way back when I was light and small!

There's no way that they'd work at all,
then. Since by the time I'd noticed this,
I'd passed my peak for aerodynamism,

loft and lift, or what else figures into it.

Yes, probably
it's just as well
I tried and failed
with each and all.

Since at my full grown size and weight, 
these days, if I'd flown then, I probably
couldn't fly by now at all, anymore
anyway
anyhow.  

If I could, I'd be amazed. 

All children passed through this same
basic phase, hey didn't they?

If they did not,
I don't know how. 
It seemed so natural
to fly, or try at least. 

Way back when we 
were light enough to land
with OW! 

no injuries. 

It didn't take a break or sprain 
to make me chuck it up: "bad job." 
Just realizing I'd become 
too big a boy 
for such 
light
lift
and loft, and soar
or clumsy lob. 

kind-of spider

I'm kind 
-of like a ghost 
spider, sat pluck 
in the midst of 
one mangled web 

but it's just my luck
someone 
or something keeps  
sticking these flies around 
my bed. Oh 

do not mistake your man, 
I mean I don't eat 
them. 

I'm kind-of vegan 
that way. Those flies 
are too much like me, 
but I like the shimmy 
and shake they bring 

anyway

I will scurry and scuttle 
on the trembling line 
'til I spot that bug 
in my faceted eyes 
and I'll steal in close 
and I work it 

free 

then it's back to the middle 
(wherever I be) with my 
skinny-ass legs 
and my fat body

To James McMurtry, from the crowd that night

(2) Facebook

__________________

"TUNE IT"

The son of a cowboy novelist 
and one of our finest Western 
apes of angels, come to 
story/song 

stood raw 
like a sort-of 
modern, American 
Elvis Costello 

onstage, messing with 
his strings.

So I stood
in the crowd 
always right
next to her, and screamed 

"YEAH!

TUNE IT!" 

I got such an elbow in 
the ribs, for that! Aimed 
right and hard from my better, 
sharper than-back-then 
half, 

as she laughed, 
but 

It was so well-worth it, because 
I meant every word.

And
she knew I did,

hence the hard-struck 

nerve. 

The Least, Easiest Things

He gets in a car 
They're looking for him
down the corner store. 
Everyone pitched in. 
His dad found the book, 

And
So did he,

So
she and he
've been
making it up
for themselves;
. 

their own private language
verbatim or not, 
we soon shall see. 

They've each fixed on 
the least and easiest things, 
and found two full worlds 
of difference, their one same 
/similar take can bring. 

One book, four hands 
soon torn apart, is easy 
and less to mend 

if you still have yourself 
half a heart, by 

the end 

offal meats

Offal meats 
discretely laid 
upon some potluck smorgasbord 
looked great, and so 
tempted was I. No, 
don't think so 
Let's let await 
until a drink or few 
gone by 

Hook, abated

What gall
and nerve, even
arrogance stands here,
to swerve 

chore to-do

my earliest convenience 
comes too soon 
i would put it off 
but 
it's done, now. 
BOON

Tin Dot.

Mostly I am
or feel like the
Tin Man. Heartless
and brave, and wanting
so much.

Occasionally
in an argument, I become
the Scarecrow by a work
of your art.

I do confess it: a touch!
A touch.

I don't really go in
for Lion, so much.
Not so much a Cat!
But I'm kind of
Chesire.

Perhaps ultimately
I'm Dot. Just Dot, with
a big wicker picnic basket
(no Toto, but probably some
kind of dog inside), sweetly,
naively unafraid of fire, coolly
or coyly advising the lot:

Pay no attention
to the curtain behind
the man, or the halo of
light he glares within.

It's only a spot.
Just a spot of light.
Not so bright as the sun
when the clouds come in.

Revenge of the nerred

"To nerr" should be a verb.
Then we could say we've
gone nerring, or nerrant.
I'm going to nerr you, or
Has she been nerring,
lately?

It would basically mean:

"To do no wrong," such as
not to err, or not to wrong
someone (typically another).

Watch out, though.

Some people might not
like to be nerred. They might
not care for the term, perchance.
They might think YOU think

you're infallible.
You could just say

NOPE! 
Just nerring
the best I can

"O come all ye"

Oh come 
all ye faithful, 
joyful and
triumphadent 
no wait 

Triumphant!
And really, only if
you're all three (3),
the song asks you
to come. If 
you're
only faithful, joyful
OR triumph
-ant, or if you find
you've got 2 out of 3,
please 

no line-jumping, please.
Please WAIT
for some other hymn
or (hyr, or thyr) to sound,
so you can join in, full
voice and applicability.
Please! If you fit the
carol's criteria, then
join in if you're feeling it! 
If you are moved to 

Wait your GOD-
BLEST TURN 

THOUGH PLEASE! 2
out of 3 ain't bad, and
even ONE (1) of those 
adjectival slammers 
is pretty good, huh?

No cause to barge in
where you weren't called
to "come all ye." Hold
up, hold on, hold out unless
and until you hit 
all three! 

(3). 

A significant number, 
in those days of yore OR
in these days of yours. Even, 
if one might say so: 

these days of ours.  

Oh wait. What the heck
do you do 
IF
you find you are
or have got all three (3)?

What 
does 
one (1) do then? 

Well, what one (1)
should do, once
one recognizes one
has the good fortune, 
dumb luck or grace to be
all three 

of those heavy-hittin' 
traits or circumstances 

If that describes you, sure.
Dive in, chime in, pipe up
and sing right all the way
through. From the aforementioned
start to the rest of the song, 
baby 

Sing it then.
You know the tune. Make up 
the words if you have
to

Christmas 
is coming hard and fast, 
hot and hard just past Halloween's
ass, and Thanksgiving's case. 

Why, before you know it, 
it's January 1st, so 

you know 

you don't have to jump 
the line, cut it early just 
for a proper slice 

of season's greetings. 

Do you? 

If so, then sure. 
Just get in where you fit 
in. Or fit out! Or fit it, or 

it fits you. Suits you fine, 
Caroline. Fits you well, 
William Tell. Now, 

how would you like to bob 
for an apple. I'll put it 
in a prime spot 
take a shot 

open dream journal #5

Last night
I dreamt that I was
counting sheep. Not even
kidding. I never counted
sheep (to get to sleep) in my
life, but there I was asleep AND
DREAMING, and my dream had
a literal counting sheep interlude.*

*for real. IN A DREAM. This happened! 

The sheep would one-by-one approach a
low, low
fence. Each leapt the fence in turn, and
a number was superimposed upon it, as if
in postproduction.

DING: 3! 

New sheep comes by, leaps over
(DING: 4!),
gambols a bit - it was the stupidest
fucking mid-dream interlude I ever
saw. THANK GOD I'm no lucid
dreamer; I would have to blame

myself for this

not funny if

So anyway,
a quick brown fox jumped
into a bar called the Lazy Dog(s).

The bartender says

(said, but): HOW MANY of you
fucking foxes does it TAKE
to change the lightbulb? The fox

said slyly why, am I the only fox in here?
(It was a dark and stormy night, you see)
(inside the Lazy Dog(s))

So the fox says: I'll have a light lager.
The bartender
says: "Well, I'm a lumberjack.
Am I OK?" The fox rejoins,

I don't know, what do you weigh? 

The bartender kicks the fox out of there.

The owner of the bar immediately waltzes
in, changes the lightbulb, realizes

the problem

was the bartender forgot to FLICK
THE SWITCH TO 'ON,' and FIRES
the bartender for kicking foxes out
of a bar whose attendance (in dog
terms) is/was largely predicated on
an occasional influx of foxes! GAH

DAMNIT this joke gets less funny
in the telling. Perhaps

if I could explain

avo toast deluxe

I raised a toast to you
by bites of avocado,
egg and such

I forked it up
and swallowed it
South

by dint of eye,
nose, tongue
and mouth

defy, deify or defile

I'd sooner defy 
or defile than 
deify you, but 
the chance of the first two 
is negligible of necessity, 
and the third 

would be redundant, 
too

the lessons of self-defense

My own unique mastered 
martial art: Tai Chi Do 
never fails to kick in 
slow motion leg 
and hand strikes, 
sweeps and blocks, 

with balance, poise 
and acumen. 

It's quite relaxing. 
Best with two: 
one mastered, 
mistressed 
martial 
art. 

We used to do it 
often at home.
Alas, she's gone. 

We danced apart 

homely homily

My faith is the size of a mustard 
tree. It's always pollen seasoning.
I cannot help but sneeze three times.
ACHOO! Amen and Alleloo, oh,
bless these days 
and evenings.  

the deef end (expectation)

I'd sooner defile
than deify expectation, but
I'll settle easily on "defies."

Truth is I don't expect
much or little; I try
to leave expectation

open

for others' use
as needs must or
likes love

then if they declare
expectation openly, I
can be like

WHAT?

or

OK!

or

whatever
seems
apt.

Or flat.

Depending on where
we
at.  

quantity vs. quality revisited

Quantity is not 
versus quality. 

And

Anyone who says it is 
has run a false dichotomy. 
I like to run quick and deep, 
leap like a stone skipped 
over a fake lake (or a literal 
one, for real) and smash 
from ripples to waves 
on far shores of any 

ol' pond in range.

Why not? Why not stunt, 
lark, fling and swing away?

Rarely 
and preciously,
when it happens 
- I am succinct. Rarely that.
Fecund, though! - even though
that's not a very virtue,
is it? 

Point is: I put out. 
I write poems bad, good 
rarely-to-never indifferent, 
every which way to loose 
in the eye of random 
passerby, and call it 

blind luck 

when one good one 
turns up. 

Is this an invalid way 
to go? I'd love to see you 
stake, make and defend 
that case, 

honcho 

I am an online poet of some (1) note. 
I'll thank you to notice, I do not gloat, 
but I'm glad in my small way 

to make. As I allude to up there,
it's about as good as a scale 
paper boat Spanish Armada 
hauling ass, grass and cash 
(or gold) across some puddle 

cosplayed as a midsize lake,
and pretending to seas. 

gift outright

Let sunlight strike 
the letters from the page, 
and read it
from memory 

anyway

kinda koan beta/original version

I would not be
an honest person, if
I said that coincidence
was mere observation.

kinda koan

I wouldn't be honest
if I said 
coincidence
was mere correspondence.

valley boy meta direct dead-set

Dear friend, you have always been
more
with the finger
on pulse of the electronic gore
slice n’ dice mix n’ match shuffling cut
to the edge than I! 

That's a mouthful, BUT
I do think
too much of that kind
of stuff
would risk creeping me
/freaking me out
enough.

I’ve a keen cool
interest in natural
uncanny valleys, such
as cryptic odd-stress syllables
in a dialogue, but that
digitally
-done-
guff hits
and overreaches my capacity for it
FAST 

With humanly-wrought things
- intentional, or not, just that
it's *natural* somehow I’ll always hold
that nothing of sense or significance is
revealed about the whole.
Not by such means.
Such a quirk or tic
only adds meaning
to do with the part,
wherein it appears
specifically.

Where the cryptic, mystic
or intriguing distortion or odd
emphasis hits!
Sits, fits, occurs. 

No overaching meaning plus,
by such flits, blips or stretches.
Just a grace note there, here, hey
no fuss. This is

a decided thing with me

Not anyhing to do with (ultimately)
the intended significance of the others’ part!
I honor that! Whatever it may be
I’m fine
with whatever they did
or might
intend, but by my interpretive art 

I rule all implication out of my take, if
I can. If it's not given plain literal enough.
it's a breeze, pretty much.

Just-as, just-is. “Hint
me no hints, for I’ll leap you no
leaps!” I say!

EXCEPTION

of course, for people longtime,
and well,
and mutually
known. That kind, those
peoples’ ways have already wormed in,
to the point
they BECOME
literal known denoted
value and meaning blocks 
and chips shot fair and level 
in any gift of sense. If…

...does that
make sense?
If so, if not,

It’s a shot from hip through
bottom-of-heart to lip!
Watch the ricochet,
for a start. Ka-pwing? 

Thanks 
for deciphering that 

if any 

thing

over-the-counter

I took half a pain-killer 
hours ago. So you know, 
if you see me half-squint 
half-wink
one eye
AT YOU - 

Nothing funny, there!
Just plumb down the line,
straightforth and true:  

My left half's in agony 
(cue wince/tic)!  
My right half's fine.

And 
I'm fine with it.
Ick.  

MOOD HAT answer key

BLUE STAR means 
I'm here, y'all. Throw me 
the pass, hand the run, 
I'll ball

BLACK STAR red white 
& black hat means 
same as above, 
just camouflage that

DODGY hat means 
all or both or either 
of the above, let's 
hope

MERMAID HAT 
means, "Hi, cupcake.
make what you wish 
of it, give or take" 

All these hats mean 
I am bald. Sorry but 
hey there it is. 

Such nerve, such
spine-tingle gut-wrench
GALL

I've been on the look 
for a black cap that just 
says "BALD" on the front, 
big and bold, forever. 

But I don't think they 
sell hats like that. I cannot 
think why they don't. 

Whatevs 

For whatever
(it is 
or means)

It's probably just 
a hat in the end. 

If I touch the brim, 
it means 'Lo, there 

friend?  

appetites & limits

For the running routine,
I'd advise four hits and/or meals
a day. Four of each, mind you. 
No swapping around! 

Big deal: 1st comes at 10AM,
or upon getting up, whichever
comes first. Hit the ground. 
Now for 2nd: not before TWO
pee em, but delay gratification
as much as one wants.
Go by appetites galore!
But keep within limits.
Fourth, third, twice, once.
For 3rd, not before 6. 4th
not before
BIG 10 P.M.!

- or whenever I
turn in, or am about to. 
Whichever that is. This is
less free verse, more a to-do 
how-to
list. 

Reflexive reflection in self-critique.

Man

trust me 

to take a dump 
in the middle of a 
pretty-good otherwise 
poem, 

right? Right
or wrong, it's
did and done. Cool
as a beast in heat 
with no mate 
in sight. 

UNCOOL insight,
potentially. Or it could be
alright, or it might 

be a big shot crack off 
the broken back
of a baseball bat,  
flying out of sight 

foul,
but just

inattention & hate

spiders would be wise 
(and most of them are)
to consider me 
a force of nature. 

I hate to undo 
all that detail-work

but sometimes, I do 
what I hate ta. 

Cool as

Cool as a candle without a flame.
Cool as a snowman's fresh disdain.
Cool as the other side
of the pillow
is.

Cool as your own reflection
in a lake,
in a glass,
in mind,
per circumstance.

Cool as the breeze
off an ice cream cone.

Cool as the business itself 
(the biz)

Cool as an iceberg's bottom
half.

Cool as a one-wipe dump. Oh, please. 
Cool as a swimming hole. Cool as breeze!
Cool as a customer, actually right 
for once.

Cool as confidence and ease. 

Cool as not caring how much
or little
people who don't know you
think of you.

Cool as whatever anyone wants,
so long as they can get it
themselves.
Cool as boo 
to a goose.

Cool as...

a hunch 

- that you can back up.

Or that you can't. Sometimes 
that's cool. It's cool. 

Cool as elves. 

Cool as a rhyme that doesn't quite 
land. Cool as a bird in a wide-open 
hand. Cool as a pose
without a stance.

Cool as a stance 
without a pose.

Cool as a perfect suit 
of clothes, or trying
that outfit off
for sighs, or

for show.  

Cool as a chance.
Cool as a fool in good cause,
such as love. Cool as a cloud-shaped
cloud, above. Cool as a
metaphor for itself.

Literally. 

Cool as someone else, who you have 
no reason to know, so far. Cool as the
temperature where you are, if it is
indeed

cool.

Cool as a dare. Cool as a risk. 
However cool either of these 
things is,

- in a given case. 

Cool as an ace with a heart 
up your sleeve, played close 
to your vest in a time of need. 

Cool as a candle without a match.
Cool as a candle without a light. 
Cool as a candle generally. Right? 

Candles are cool! Or they can be, 
sure. It all depends on a lot.
Context! Cool as a hitch
without a catch. Cool as It
Is Itself, just now.

Might be less cool, somehow,
or more, next time, next place,
next thing itself - galore!  

Cool as a bare-ass baby pic.
Cool as an iceberg's underwear. 
Cool as a cone, when you get

one lick. 

Sometimes we pick. 
Sometimes we share. 
Sometimes we get none, too

That's cool.
NOT FAIR

headfelt

The contents of my heart
so full, so clear right now

Unfortunately

the cotton wadding in
my brain eschews
all

eschews
attempts

at

ah, dang it.

Unfortunately, it's
the thought that counts.
My thought is caught
in purple felt done up
all stiff and soft like
this.

So uselessly, my thoughts
are dealt.

A shopworn hat
crunched up, worn
inside skull, and cocked
so far from bliss, eschewing
all but awkward words.

It feels right now like
I am always this.

Except
I know I've known
much better days
and moments,
so

might we postpone?

'Til I awake
with heartfelt mind
and golden tongue,
and speak my way
clear home. 

some moment aglow

Raise a glass to clearing skies 
and let the moonrise shine 
through it.

Make
some toast 
that just popped up,
impromptu, meant
and somehow fit.

All 
the while
lost in your
eyes, with you
so found in mine,
as well. 

Too simple 
for a recipe, 
but perfect how 
this moment fell. 

Brave advice

Kid, sometimes, 
- I don't mean to be mean, 
but you're one well-spoken 
nothing puff. You might 

if you care about might, 
consider holding back 
until something you say 
builds up 

to clear a higher bar 
of remarkable. 

It might take practice 
or discipline, but I know 
kid, that you have it 
in you. 

Or maybe you don't. 
You do you, then. 

fantastic odds

If not for my bald spot 
I'd be a superstar 
I'd strut around in free clothes
to impress

If not for my longshot
I'd be a gambler
I'd make a number of big, bad bets

If not for my slow start
I'd be a cornerback
I would be playing professional ball

If not for my free fall 
I'd be a climber, now 
I'd be
way on top
of it all! 

- If not for my 
- If not for my
bald
spot 

(I'd be a billionaire 
I'd drive a hundred-and-one
Corvettes)
(I would be famous
with no regrets) 
(I would be counting more
than 
you could bless) 
(I would be better and best,
no less) 

If not for my
If not for my bald spot. 
I'd have a head of hair
beyond counting 
so you'd just guess

the load

We carry a burden remarkable 
In all of the things we say, let fly 

Because there is too much there 
to explain, exclaim, even if 

we did nothing else 

'til we die

Unused saws

Can't eat your cake 
that you don't have. 
Can't look your horse 
in its long-gone mouth 
When you gave it away 
by the waterside. Well 
you led the way fine, 
but you lost your ride. 

Now you can't teach 
dirty dogs squeaky-clean 
tricks! When will you
learn 
what not to mix?

All your metaphors laid
like so many bricks slid
into similes 
you can't like as this.
But 
you might as well learn 
from experience.
It sure 
isn't good
for much else, 
you wince.

You can't fly 
a kite from a bike
off a log
 
and expect to forget 
how you did that 
a thing like that  

tends to stick 
- unless you were stoned, 
or ended up with a concussion. Well,

try it again, then, maybe. For 
the memory jog 

sliding scale

You can always tell 
where you fall on the scale, 
'cause it's fixed in the place
you've broken it. Don't fall 
for the false dichotomies! 
In a given case, they are not
legit. 

Still, now and then T/F 
does hold true, and Y/N
lies right
between go/stop. 
In that case, in which case 
you may rely:

You know. 

Sure you do.
Don't be coy,
nor shy. 

When you're hot you're hot! 
When you're up you're up. 
When you're not you're not. 
Sometimes you get stuck. 
Sometimes you get loose. 
When you're feeling wild
or mild, 
honk 

like a goose! 

Or if that won't work,
cry like a baby, 
laugh like a child, 
act like a sweetheart,
look like a jerk,
dance like a fool 

on apple juice

and let opportunity 
do its work.

take measure

I keep a level in my heart, 
like carpenters use to test straight lines. 
The bubble slips from left to right 
with every beat, and I feel fine. 

I keep a gauge in mind, all day. 
It's sensitive. It calibrates. 
Sometimes results are off the charts, 
but those are only on best days. 

I keep a range, a meter, glass 
with needle always quivering
or sitting still. Whichever way, 
I hope tomorrow when I rise, 
it always will.

I don't know what these things 
are for. I only know they're always 
there, and always have been.
I keep score against myself.

So far, I win. 

"Go Through"

Well it isn't how I supposed 
it's supposed to be 
But I know what that's worth 
and it isn't worth a thought 
from me 

When I sit here alone 
or look around wherever I roam, 
I can't help thinking I missed some clue. 
And maybe that's what we always do?

Maybe I deserve it
Maybe no one does
Maybe it's some third thing we all get 
Just 'cause

Maybe I deserve it
Maybe we all do 
Maybe it's some same thing we all just 
go through

go through 

I can't help thinking that maybe we 
(stuck somewhere between infinity) 
can never run out of puzzles to solve. 
So we make up our own
from push to shove,
just to stay involved 

I can't help remembering so much good
(and I know you will back me up on that) 
I am reasonably sure I deserved some of it 
So maybe the bad pieces also fit 
If they all connect, 
when they all lie flat, 
and we can step back?

Maybe I deserve it
Maybe no one does
Maybe it's some third thing we all get 
Just 'cause 

Maybe I deserve it 
Maybe we all do 
Maybe it's some same thing we all just 
go through, go through 

It's either that, or it's something else. 
What do you think? Does the universe 
have it in for us? Or is all the worst 
just a token admission fee. Are 
the blessings worth the curse? 

I know what I'd say. But 
I'm asking you first 

You don't have to guess,
and you don't have to come 
to the same answers as me. 

Whatever it is, we'll have to see
Whatever it is, maybe we
deserve it

well-being

Sat in the back of a long, 
deep well
Watching the water 
run up and out 
the sides 
to the sky. 
Gravity's weird 
in here, but I'm used 
to it. 

I know why

slave driver

So imprisoned
by my acts 
in captivity 
of consequence 

Oh when shall I ever be free
Oh lord, carry me

Let my words
and my acts 
be acceptable 
in this place 

Oh lord bear
my heaviest weight
carry me away, 

Oh please carry
me

caper catch

You fasten the clasp  
around your throat 
and let fly
out behind you, all afloat 

There's a catch to it 
that you cinch-caught sure,
and you know it won't loose 
'til you let it pour 
from your shoulders
and neck, at opportune time.
You'll emerge safe and dry,
home free, 
so fine. 

In such fair fashion of yours, 
you stream forth. No
crusade of yours, just
a caper of sorts - 
with a hitch at your throat, 
you grow sudden spread wings! 

And you'll walk out on air 
'til the dawnbird sings.  

caper

It was a Victorian sort
of cape
I tried to drape.
A functional garment
of independent color, and
would keep the weather out. Not one
of these vampire stage magician superhero
deals. The fact that it would swirl and twirl
well was incidental to its functionality. Point is
though: what the hell, it would probably still
strike you as the sort of thing
people would take as an affectation,
however you wore it.

canny valley vistas

Sometimes
I have an uncanny
sense that our
conversation is composed
of streams
of endlessly effortless
such small adjustments.
A continually unfolding perpetuity,
a felicity self-correcting,
in mechanism
like petals spun open
beewise in the sun. 

Other times I'm like, hey

That could strike some as a bit "much," but
probably they're not going to say it. So
who does that leave? To say such
things
to

us 

Just so some one does, 
that's the main thing. You can't leave
true shit like that lying
around
unsaid. 

manhandle

You know 
how to find your reach 
and grip

How to lever me up 
and never slip 

You can pretty much 
get me whenever 
you want 

It's as if I was born 
to be easy and tall, 
and blunt.

You know how 
to handle me deft, 
or rough and hard 
or gentle and swift 

Well, where did you get
your instruction from? 
When you never had 
one of your own 
to practice on. 

It's as if you were born 
to make me come 
to a shared 
understanding:
no game, no race,
but

we'll slacken
and quicken our pace
In this place

Where we are one,
'til we both have won.

letters lost

each little lost letter 
has no idea, sometimes,
as it stands in anonymous 
rows:

What
kind of word 
it's contributing
to. Where 

in some sentence it fits, 
and goes. One

letter won't know. And

As to paragraphs, good 
grief! No way to step 
so far back and see 
one's place in the 
prose we make 
all alone, each 
by each, building up 

to some sense 
we can never see, 
take in, understand, 
truly mean

of 
our
own. 

An intake of breath

Something the size 
of a pencil, a thumb. 
Something the size 
of a thought. Something 
the size of a raindrop, 
a sun. 

I wanted to tell you 
so much, but it caught. 

Jesus that was awful

Israel seems to be 
a problem that will never 
go away, to some. 

While others flip 
the focus, pull back 
the frame and just say 

the whole Middle-East 
is what seems
to be wrong. 

Still others zero in 
to make the problem 
Palestine. 

While I sit here safe,
dry and face wet,
excusing myself 
out of any potential
obligation to contribute
to conceivable solution. Saying 

there isn't any, not with 
the problem as posed.  

Writing prose vainly
broken up into stanzas 
propping up lines
that don't end in rhymes

Counting myself helpless
to help. Saying this "poem" 

is all I could "do." 

Welp

The Ballad of June-Bride, The Southern Belle

Her name was June-Bride, 
The Southern Belle. 
She grew up beautiful inside, 
And every June 
She took another
Husband. 

She did this
For a decade-plus,
But at thirteen
She kicked a fuss
About bad luck.
So now she has
The dozen. 

She finds them apt 
To meet her needs. 
They're all content
With pleasantries 
and Surface charms.
Of these, her store is
Ample. 

Still decades come
And go, by years. 
And she'll outlive
Them all, she fears. 

It's not so bad so far,
My dears.

It never rains
But pours sometimes,
But - never tears!
Except that stretch:
One dozen years.

For sake of form
Or something else, 
She's always felt
Compelled herself
To cry at weddings
Of her own -

- Of which 
As we have found
And known, she's had
Fair share. More than 
Enough to sample
Sighs, and scratch, and itch. 

And blush. Thirteen June husbands
After all our June-Bride hitched! 
In one sweet harness, fit to ride.
She grew up

Beautiful inside. 
And life turned out?
Okay, so far.

And not at all a bitch,
They say. 
As happily ever after goes
From here, (as far as any can see) 
To clear Eternity, or death. Or

Both?

She fears
She might outlive 
Them all.

So far,  
No funerals!
And so:

She'll dance in
Summer's suns.
Adored by all,
And 
Every
One.

Temporary non-interference pattern

Yes I am aware 
from the sum of various flanges 
and tangents, wavering, waving
and creeping in around the edges, 

From emanation and penumbra 
I neither tune out, try to shut out,
look away, nor ignore,

nor seek further into

just yet. I am again aware 

That Something Atrocious 
Has Happened. I even
have some idea 
as to where. 

I know also:

That it's too late 
for me to powerfully 
intervene to prevent 
the thing, and: 

Also: that no realization, 
analysis or interpretation 
I have to bring to bear 

upon the thing, its causes
or effects, will do the slightest 

good. Just yet, and
in all probability forever!
My "take" will be 
and do 

no good.  

Pardon me therefore
if I might (under such
conditions as always
or almost always
obtain) hesitate

to dive in 
to it. 

Whatever it is, 
specifically. I'm aware 
of where it hit.

The foretaste and backwash
of vicarious grief has already
sunk a gut-punch in the stomach, but

I know 

from experience 

how much that'll get us. 

universal dynamics

People are always figuring you
for the "angle in" they each
perceive, and note
as

potentially useful, perhaps
unique, and fruitful
for them. To manipulate,
persuade, or even
deceive. And
always more
for self than
yours, or so
it seems
sometimes.
But

Sometimes

a blessedly mutual sheen,
some union or overlap
in goals
is purposefully forged
(or faked)

for you both

To realize
oh, no. Oh yes,
we're in it together,
and clean - almost. Or
all the way through,
all the way! Forged
or faked, for
goodness
staked

found
good as could
be. Alleluia, for
you! For them.
For me? For pete's sake!
What a glorious,
breaking day
we then make.

Yes,
People are always
figuring you.

Or so it seems,
unless or until
no one does,
anymore

Or is.
So don't you
neglect to see
the chance
to take, the row
to potentially
hoe and till.

Don't
condemn
or accuse or
resent what they see
to pursue, when
they do.

That's your
"angle in"
to. Yours,
too.

Yours, two.

pure nature.

Or

would that title
go better as question?
Purity - the kind 
we mean in wonder 
or at least admiration, 
not in accusation 
of narrowness - 
or intolerance -  
Purity that simply
is

Purity of nature,
or in us, of focus, force 
or purpose - is just 
the same as excess 
without slightest
deviation 
in aim,

- isn't it? 

It isn't rhetorical,
the question. I don't know. 

Perhaps it's not a thing 
I should know. Ever since 
the fall of innocence got 
so inextricably tangled up 
in ignorance, we've been 

wondering such paradoxically 
pure, potentially perverted-
in-implication

things 

haven't we? 
Or have we. 
Or was that 
just 
me! 

Naval gazing

As your surprise fleet
of new-clad thoughts
nips nimbly through
so narrow and branching 
a channel, I stand athwart the locks 
and wonder

Are you coming down the line
on a rigid heading, or reenacting
the steps of prior self-examination?
Rather than making way by leap
and creep, right now? Or...?

Pardon me. That's kind of private
intel, but I know it would drive me
NUTS if it were all the same to me. 

Is it...is it that
on some level you have
a vested goal in reaching the same
end the same ways, always
coming through just so?

Oh it isn't, it isn't rote!
Surely no. I mean, navel-gazing
is involved, but that's only one
of a number of key bodily or mindful chakras
being gazed into and through, tickled,
like ivories, raked, razed and raised.
Like stakes. It's pure navel-gazing,
when one indulges in it
to elevate one's self
as an object of interest and
engrossment, sure. But
when one is trying to

delve, or plumb
some line, or tap and plume
some foaming spring, or fathom
and tune secret mechanisms by which
one normally turns outward to order
the world in disparate reflection
of it or them? Surely it loses
that narcissistic cast
and becomes the whole, healthy,
extended arm of difficult, effortless 
gift?

To another? Of oneself whole - by sound
and sounded, tried part. Trying to give
self true (which ought to be easy)
and deep (which ought never be 
tried).

Anyway, it all transforms into a natural,
grandiose yet innocent, even benevolent
megalomania, maybe? This golden or colorless
transparent high focus. Some angle of light,
unseen ever before. Just hit upon! Some

thing

good.

Spotted and volunteered on the spot!
Something
with the bad sense of two or more
of the ugliest words
leached away, while
the core, original sense of each
stands forth stripped and pure,
blushing.

Stood stark and bare
of sense, coming in 
swift and sure
upon the deck of one
of many ships. Armed 
to the teeth, and easy

as she goes

with it.