A Poem 

How Much Food Can I Stuff In The Dog
September 26, 2020

how much food can I stuff in the dog
how much food can I stuff in the dog
will it fit, will she split
how much food can I stuff in the dog

like most songs it comes back around
will the sound, somehow abound

how much food, how much food
how much food can I stuff in the dog
will she sit, will she fit
after all the food I've stuffed in the dog

and just, on forever, babbling

* * *

It has a tune you know

Sex Reference, Kittens, Poetry 

Writing Responsibly
September 25, 2020

were one to write responsibly
there would be fewer poems
dedicated to that almost art
of how kittens right themselves

almost every time

about how they complain
when the neighbors shag
or the sun goes out
and the specially graded kitten milk
carefully processed together
from finest powder
isn’t right

wherein sole dedication

to responsible
or irresponsible

is tragedy

* * *


Out Back
September 22, 2020

a small terrible poem happened
out behind the paint shed
where all the schooling gets down
in those dark places
we never talk about
because they're too much like home

silent voices
silent erasure

second nature

* * *

Poem, Terrible 

A Hai-Oh
September 21, 2020

the cupboard is bare
excepting the hair from where
calico repaired


Lose Not Your Hope
September 19, 2020

do not lose hope
but too

hold it not the arbiter
of happiness
of victory
of defeat
of life

for the wheel continues
where willful expectation
falls aside

stone to stone
where one mills

A Hai-what?
September 18, 2020

checking the cupboard
there's the bloody cat at last
warm fuzzy comfort

Rabbit, Rabbit
September 17, 202

when they came
it wasn't with weapons of war
but cute, fluffy goodness
a gentle hello
a quiet surprise
we found them
quite delicious

The Heart Has Many Doors
September 10, 2020

without a sound, we find
a hollow ground between
stepping sideways, gliding
stepping sideways, residing
moment to monument
one door

upon that wide flat plain
salt and stone still drifting
we whisper our refrain
and come back to find it empty
just another frame
soft in low desert

neither lock nor hasp
asking where in the world are we
never thought to pass
the question, which of many
locket on my heart
skyward in attention
always pointing home

Poetry, Tangential Body Horror 

Free ()
September 8, 2020

for you this clay-print glossy magazine
no need to pay, no need to stay your wrapped (s(l((ic)k))) attention
from flick to snick, prick to quick
thousand headed hydra of perfect
scrapbooked heads adorning walls, clipped
just so, the glow, the afterglow, the stolen lamentations
of an entire nation

that they might buy to be
perfect ()

September 8, 2020

those freedoms to defend
that breach not consent
well, all of them defend
and those that could
if misapplied
those claimed as would
and thus decried
in place of breach, teach

and teach

and teach


Dream Hammer
September 8, 2020

if I have to dream
swinging the hammer again
let every strike fall steady
metronomic upon the wall
of dream

* * *

Our Time of Loving
August 30, 2020

I do so love
the monthly hail unto Caesar
getting bumped off schedule
that it becomes common parlance
worn joke, and dressing down
in saved daylight


August 30, 2020

you are listening to the place where my voice would otherwise be
here on the radio’s oscillation, frequently determined by isolation
crimping corners of this plantation where my founding father’s slavery
was possession of voice, possession of choice, iteration
for he would have a thousand generations of those who look like me inhuman
reliquary in liquid, further in glass, a class each of one, that those
are done, and done to, and spun unwilling into someone else’s

Well, that Sonnet is Fired 

Any time I wake up from weird dreams about an otter in love with a fur coat, and the butler who has to get the gifted sardines out of it? Not the time to write a sonnet.

*wanders off to finish it anyway*


August 28, 2020

wind's ivy layers
reveal mantis face clean green
spreading building's wings

Goodreads Author Promo Gurgles 

When not writing the day, I guess gurgle about author pages on Goodreads or something: goodreads.com/author/show/7731

Not A Poem 

Today, I sat down to write a poem, and my brain fed me Zappa Lyrics instead. I don't mind. Zappa pretty much spins my turbine every time.


August 26, 2020

with keys to the city
in burnished black and gold
I was sent forth
secrets untold
to find that special hydrant
with crests both new and old
where to insert sweet liberty
and there the door to hold

landscape folding backwards
buildings clinging tight
awakening, awakening

* * *

The downside/upside to having a place to land poems: The brain positively erupts in 'em, and they're all bizarre moments of surreality. I'm good with this.

Re: Poem 

Just gonna ignore layout issues and pretend line breaks invoked by Mastodon's narrow display area and line breaks invoked by me are.



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I Used To Write The Words
August 25, 2020

I used to write the words, one sentence at the end of every poem
steal this and

but threatening seems a gall of tannin now, spun weaponless and quaint
steal this and

and I might hope that where the turning came, whispered in the fallows
steal this and

that burn becomes the brighter burning, turn becomes the lighter turning
steal this and

be welcome

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