rights reserved, vs. rights deserved

my copyright prohibits derivative works
explicitly but that makes me a hypocrite, see?
Each and all my works are derivative. Originality
is a cross I gave the other guy to bear

delicate

I didn't stop caring,
I just stopped crying
my eyes had no more to give
my hand kerchief
got tired of drying
tears,
my eyes dried, un-
bleared,
I honked my last
big honking blast
from my sore, red nose
and I threw it in the trash

The hanky, not my nose!

it was all stained and smeared
from the tears you made me cry
and big snot honks!

I'm a delicate guy.

what used to be water

Christ is coming
around again, not
Sunday this time,
or Saturday. It's
Tuesday. Christ
is waiting,
before the door.
Right on time,
like a thief
in line for the next
teller.

He has not knocked.
He awaits at the door.
Who then shall answer?
Well,

it's my fucking house, so
I guess that's me. Hello?

"Peace be with you. Do
you have some time today
to speak together with
me about God?" Sure thing!

Come in, sir.

Sit down.

"No need
for the sir," he smiled.
"I'd like to tell you
a little about my ministry.
It won't
take long"

- just cut it right there,
please. Miracles! Buddy,
cut to the miracles

, says I.

He sighs.

Soon enough I'm regaled by
wonders, and rolling on the
floor from the parables.
He's turning fish into stones,
juggling loaves of milkhoney bread
telling stories like the pharisee
and the samaritan
walked into a bar
and I'm all stocked up
on gallon jug jars
of what used to be water

I love that guy!

He can come around anytime

an answer

you see, I pray a lot
I mean no, I don't pray a lot
I don't know if I pray or not
it's more thought,
on the infinite topic,
a talk

yes of course - a bit one-sided, I know
have I seen, heard - a vision? a voice?
thank God no! I'd be pleased not to be
blessed quite so much as that
I like my miracles flat

but every long once in a while
that talk
hits a snag that I can't see
to work free myself
- it resolves itself to a plea,
to a prayer.

and last night I asked you
to help.

you were there

poems like the previous

poems like the previous one are why
I don't like to try to explain, or pry

pickup or delivery

anxious
someone is on their way
waiting,
will the change be right
will the right change be there?
for the right tip, and tax
have I checked for that?
an eternal suspense
I have never ordered
I never placed the call
I never told anyone what I want, but
I cannot shake the feeling: somewhere,
there is a pizza coming
there is always a pizza coming
the feeling is always in the air
as the front porch light stays lit, waiting
for it,
and I get up and pace
and I check the face in the mirror
and I try to remember
the last time
I ever even placed
an order for pizza delivery.
been years, surely
it can't have been me who called
who is coming to see me
and what is going to be on it?
the pizza has been coming for
as long as I can think back
- and I'm starting to think,
it will never arrive
never land
never reenter
the timestream, the world
of reality, of "ding-dong!"
of "just a minute!"
of "here you are -"
"- there you go,"
no.
This is one pizza that will never show.
But when it does,
it will be so damn piping
fresh
and hot
I will not
be able to believe.

I hear tires outside

out the door

the room has no air and I
walk, heatless,
through it
expecting every eye
upon me as I
hit the door, pulling,
swinging through
- fulcrum, lever and me
smooth in one motion. I'm
a perfect machine
for getting the hell out

but as I breathe again,
- treading on tree shadows,
cutting through the gap in the hedge
shooing spiderwebs - the eyes
still seethe
upon my ever-retreating
back

to say it

I wanted to say it
too
unless you didn't

in which case,
I wanted to say it
one

fine then

It's either fine how it was,
or it's better now
and I don't care which
just as long as it fits
you can write whatever end
of the story you want,
or technically I guess,
set the sequel up

if you finally think you made a mistake

here's a last chance to make it right

it's either over like it was,
or else we move on
I refuse to let it drag
on longer like this
in my heart, I mean
- you have no idea
there was anything but over
between us at all

you knew what you had to do,
and you went ahead knowing the cost

but if you finally think you made a mistake

here's a last chance to make it right

and if you still think what you did was right, then

here's another chance to cut the loss

but if you finally think you made a mistake

here's a last chance to make it right

I have a mole on the inside

I have a mole on the inside
that doesn't tell me a thing
and I can't reach it to squeeze
for information or gently scratch
as a reward stimulus, it's too far
beneath the skin

it's on the inside
and it doesn't tell me a thing

Cute As Boots!

you're as cute as a new pair of boots
that you bought half-a-size too small
just to have them at all
snagged the very last pair
will you wear them around?
will you wear them at all?
they pinch don't they, oh
will they get comfortable
after you break them in?
they're so cute with your hair!
and your outfits and jeans
after you break them in,
- do you think you will, though?
after you break them in,
bet they won't mean a thing

dialogue

youth is wasted on the young,
who can't appreciate the fun
- but wait, that's dumb! Of course they can!
just what did you mean there, old man?

combat in the age of dream chivalry

girt in my iron pajamas
I ride fro on my steed of linen
to battle! in a wide plain of dream violence,
and my broadsword going all: whsssht! whsssht! CLANG
through the air and upon the shields and helmed visages
that surround me pretty thick.
The brute force of my sword-arm tells
to the consternation and woe of my sworn foes
fuck them

this is my dream

whatever they did to deserve to be in it
is not my problem

I SMITE THEE, SUCKA!!
whsssht! whsssht!

clang

a fleeting season

my mouth tastes of cigarettes,
and so should yours after all
but it doesn't. It tastes
like a color, like a warm
sound, like a feeling,
like water, clear
fleeting

here for a season,
- less than that -
then drought

it feels like life
should be one long season of rains, by now
but up in the clouds, our rain dance has fallen
on agnostic ears, and we have to husband
what we've collected in buckets, in
troughs and tin cans, in
our hearts,

against this doubt
to get us through

I know
we shouldn't be smoking, but then
neither should anyone else

there's plenty of other things, as well
that nobody else should do

my ear just popped

my ear just popped
I guess I'm officially
down to earth,
not quite sea level
but grounded,
at least

For a while there
I was too high to do anything
but chew gum, and look down
in wonder
at how the lights
of cities and towns,
seen through the thin, doppled
layer of clouds
threw an angry orange glare
upwards, in my direction
making everything look like
smog and fire, and future dystopias

In places, the whole horizon was lit
by that evil glow

I just shut up, and
kept going

up to there

thigh high boots -
for a perfect excuse,
try thigh-high snow!
and away we go

slow start

bang! the starting gun
went off
I jumped up, startled
caught me flat
oh yes, I guess I'm s'posed
to run
too beautiful a day
for that!

new year's eve is over

one last grain
one tick, one beat
the countdown slid
to zero, we

turned and missed
our chance
for our last kiss
last year, our first
for this

this year I won't commit
to change or quit
or do a thing except
just making up that difference
and kissing you each
chance I get
upon your lips

I am resolved
so I will shave
my prickly chin

to keep your skin
unscuffed, unscratched

with kisses cool
inflamed within

the comeback kid

final seconds tick
down to zero,

click

game over - or is...?

she's dropping back, kids!

it's a Hail Mary pass
a Baby Jesus football, caught
in the end zone, defenders
breaking down in tears

pandemonium

as the cheers
erupt
for the home team
Final Score -
- unbelievable!
Saints: 21
Sinners: 23

what an all-time upset

victory

Death

Death
sometimes hurts,
sometimes, they don't
say

I don't want to know
either way

The World Curved Wrong

the sun set down
on a world curved wrong
the horizon buckled back
for one good look
at the colors and light
that faded from our faces
as a darkness rose up
from between blades of grass
the shadows climbed our legs
and reached from low to higher
places. But before the end, I guess
we had one hell
of a time in heaven
and that was the last
that there was.

no further lessons to learn

but one.

I Drop Rhymes

I drop rhymes
like a watch ticks times
like a clock tocks hickory docks and then chimes
I drop rhymes
like Mama Jong drops tiles
and I gots more styles than a model's got smiles

black, and red

black,
and the night
are not owned by the dark
there is glorious light
that pervades every heart
on a frequency past
what our searching eyes see
still our searching hearts fill with it,
luminously

red,
and our blood
are not ruled by the blade
are not bound by the cruel
not by violence enslaved
for blood's strength is in life
not in spills, but in flows
in its unspoiled bloom
on your cheek,
like a rose

from venus

There will come a point when you will just give up.

And then, there will come a point when you will
believe
again

in defiance of all that you told yourself,
your hysterical vows,
your infinity-dog dares
to do without

to say to love:
"go screw"

and you, a foolish shoo-fly sap
drawn down the lip of that needle-toothed trap
once again, you fall in
and it's

sweeter than it's ever been

as you willingly dissolve

into him

karma's bullshit

bad things happen
to everyone, eventually
even assholes

and the fact he got his
has nothing to do
with how many times he gave you yours
and laughed, walking off

unpunished

he remains unpunished

had he treated you well,
like a saint, this would still
have happened anyway, to him
the same exact way
- or something worse
eventually

and so he remains, unpunished

and in that same period of time
you collected twenty comeuppances
you did not deserve, while he waltzed free

is that your cosmic balance?
what a shit head.

and he'll waltz on from this, too
while you curse and wait for worse
to befall

all it does
is make your soul mean, and small
to sit around waiting for it
and then crow
when it comes

the size of your soul, now:

there's your karma

my problems

my problems accumulate in private
then I work them out
right here in public

right here in these poems
where you can smell it

"hey, what about those problems, Joe?
that you were talking about?"

Well, you know
sometimes I feel sort of
wrong place-y

and other times "is this
skin mine?"

and then I might wonder
"HEY! What's going on?"

but for every damn problem I have:
a poem

the rosary

we pray to thee
to take this prayer,
so round, and small
and hard, we've squeezed
with fingers white
and all our might
which isn't much

another bead

like days slide by
so full of grace,
we fail and try
to know our place
and oh, our father,
glory be

please string this out
another decade more
or so,

to live to see

another
sorrowful
mystery

if you care

if you care,
I don't know why
you care

if you love me, I know
you do
but I don't know why,
I swear

I'm not worth much
but I am worth love
I'm not worth much
but I was worth more
than what

this was

not that into that band anymore

I guess you're not into that band
anymore, that you recommended.
Not into their new stuff

it's a shame, it's good

no, not a shame for you
you had them when
they turned days into
anticipation for you, and nights
into eternities,
straight into your memory
for forever, at their best

well a band like that, that
can capture the moment, can
be perfect
on the night
- a band like that, will
never be as good again
in anything they do

especially if it's different

until they can do it again.

Hey

would you like to go see

a show?

superbia

alarmed
by the middle-class plastic swell
that budded, split and swarmed
suddenly into bulging pods and forms
identical in all but their designer colors,
the trees shrank back toward the hills
that were themselves soon infiltrated
by an unchecked growth

larger,
square, tall,
and with tall, squared, staring eyes
lit from within by hardwood paneling
and framed original art, the ridge-line
sprouted fat blocky towers and undulating,
smooth-stone walls, defined lawns and gardens,
with here and there nests of round stones like eggs,
selected for their large size, pleasing shape
and harmonious color. Here and there, trees
brought in singly from elsewhere, planted
in place full-grown already,
sending forth self-satisfied sap and pollen
the bees and hummingbirds love

the old trees stood
wherever they were left,
and grew,

sad

an award

I wish you saw how I see you
wish you knew how much I
wish I could

I want to give you an award
for everything that you meant
but it wouldn't mean much
to you

nothing means the world to me now
nothing means the world to me now

but you showed me what it could mean,
though

and so I give you this,
award

for a lifetime achievement

or at least,

that's what I would

have
thought

and under the tree...!

she was wearing a scarf,
and a hat, and mittens
and bootie socks
and that was it! Oh,
and a ribbon
with a bow upon
right about where you'd think
the adhesive might smart

but the knock on the door
- "Come right in!" she calls out
as her big brassy smile
falls crash from her mouth
"Oops! Wait! I'm getting dressed -"
it isn't who she expects
well it serves her right! Really!
What an impudent tart.

Trying Mountains On For Size (early draft)

dibs on this as a poem title!!

terra cotta

we seem too deep
to be reached
and when the thoughts
seep through, through the sponge
to the cracks
and in drips and drabs
they collect in the pan
beneath,
well, it's nearly brim
-full
now

we will have to pull
and switch it out
for a new, and empty
tray

and set the old one
out to harden

like

clay

I'm there

I've got a standing rendezvous
with destiny and she
always stands me up

no that's ok, that's ok
no problem

so I'll see you next week huh
destiny? yeah, pencil it in
next time for sure

hearts that melt

hearts that melt
need heart-shaped molds
to freeze them up again
or else

you wouldn't know
they're hearts at all
just dark red puddles
drying out

to set.

the convenience of winter

ah, the convenience of winter!
easy to open, in the convenient pop
top. Ice and snow: galore! And you'll
have a capade or two of your own, in these
stellar rubber boots and this all-over sleek
down-padded winterized rubberized vulcanized
thermal-insulated snowsuit with inner moisture-wick
and convection-assist! Slide-plow down mountains of white
slipping, sprawling, falling forward and glide for tens of feet!
your face chafes red with cheer and your hands,
fully-begloved, nevertheless do freeze quite through
and you must pound them against objects, hard, to restore
feeling and tingling vigor to tips of fingers. Oh! The fun
you'll have as you scrape and chip ice from necessary surfaces!
Push and plow open-topped tunnels out, so that others may walk,
dig out your car so that some other son of a bitch
can be parked in the hole you made,

so cozy

when you get home

concrete circle, driftwood, sand

I want to affectionately tousle her hair
with my lips and chin and kiss, and this
is not all I want to do

but it's a start,

hearts in worlds of their own, apart
but adjacent - the universe next door
takes fire and wing, we watch the blaze
whisper, hiss, sing

as my arms, in fleece, encircle her.
our faces forward, eyes alight
the dancing fire we face breaks wood
and cracks its walls and crisps its grain
to ash, and dust, and flame
and night

tomorrow the smoke
will be on our clothes
and in her hair

the fire will be
- where?

my inner kirk

My inner Spock said

phasers on kill

My inner Kirk said

fire at will

My inner Sulu said

your shields gave in

My inner Bones said

HE'S DEAD JIM

curved back

straight
and far
along a line
that's drawn across
the furthest distance between two points
that I can find

away from you

but curved
and bound
by circles, weights
and gravities that bend our shapes
right back into