The Loogork: A Nonsense Limerick

The Loogork: A Nonsense Limerick

There once was a loogork named Darg who nightly camped out in my yard. I offered him fish and fresh pretzel sticks which he took as a trade for his log.

The Seventeen

The Seventeen like laughter-clatter, ArmaLite refuse echoes up the hall. A shrill metal bird has been paid to sing arson and lure us to fire. Riddled, we watch as others prod, fiddle with our holes, feel for the thin veil of prayer the dosh demands be woven –ever retroactively–into our skin. Let their fingers burn. […]

A Snowman Scene

A Snowman Scene

Sick of tradition, Frosty tosses his corn cob pipe into the fire. As he does, a bit of his arm gets over-warm and sloughs off as slush on the bearskin rug. “Typical,” Frosty mutters. He shuffles back a few feet. He would sweat nervously if he could afford it, but the Californian winter, ever short […]

Game ____ Match

Game ____ Match

Sunset sets conceptually. Daydeath dawns. Decay writ large, writ regular, routine withering in the way we end the day. Stop connoting soft death under constructed beauty: lithe ghosts that float over fields of miribilis jalapa, four o’clock flowers that flex out sweet sweat and hold the night in thrall. Make it explicit: we blink, dark […]

Haiku 12/7/17

Haiku 12/7/17

Housemate’s hairs stick, plague shower floors–winter’s rain, my refuge from the filth.

364-58

364-58

364-58 The sky has called in sick. The clouds (grey) hesitate. Watch: they float, crawl, dawdle. Nearly as many NOs as DAYs.

Older

Older

He milks the weeds of his home-town and pours the bitter broth in a ceramic bowl, drop by drop , like harvesting syrup, that slow serenade of nearly-not-a-liquid, from the forests that spring up out of composting teddybears and trendy teen magazines ’bout music. His mind is a confetti of neon wristbands– concerts, clubs, conventions–and […]

Headache

Headache

Athena, long-limbed and armor-clad, is curled up in the gashapon of my skull– kicking, unborn babe, I can feel her toes , the bone cracking (mine, not hers (her muscles are mightier ; mine shred and quiver me; I am the dragon-roar of her aegis; my face is laden with the bent brow of her […]

become furniture

become furniture

Coat hangers dissolve       as the years pass and no one recalls      where to hang their hats.

an other

an other

Whistling down the alleyway on a Tuesday afternoon while the rain is pouring down –loose notes without a tune. He wears a shadow ‘cross his eyes , his jacket’s made of sleep, and in each pocket jostling are heaps of tasty treats. Not candies; no, no lollypops, no sugar-laden fare, but songs and words and […]