Monday, May 25, 2015

Grasping

The human mind is not capable of
grasping the Universe
The human
mind is not grapable of casping
the Universe
The not-Universe human is crasping
the not-grapable mind
Grasping the mind is not
the capable Universe
The mind of the Universe is not
not casping the grapable
Mind of human not
not-human
Capable universe
Of not is not
Grasp. Grasp. Grasp. Grasp.

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Caught

That is not a very good poem, said the fly to the spider
Referring to its web
No, I’m afraid you misunderstand, said the spider
It is not a poem, but a net of silk threads to entrap you.

Dangerous

You might think there’s nothing more dangerous than a dangerous, dangerous dinosaur riding a dangerous, dangerous dirt bike over a dangerous, dangerous desert full of dangerous, dangerous dungeons.
But the most dangerous is not to know your own mind.

The Peg-Legged Beggar

The peg-legged beggar near the bridge
Observes the stream go by
The sun is hot; he sees a hawk
And hears a field mouse cry.
He dips his non-peg-leg inside
The ever-rushing stream
The sun collects itself into
A burning noon-light beam.
He doesn’t feel refreshed
To feel the stream on non-peg skin
He switches; dips inside the stream
His worn and wooden limb.
At last, a rush of calm and cool!
His peg-leg cannot feel
But wood is wise, and has a knack
For sensing out the real.

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Crazy Old Man

I am a typical-looking old man and I went to a public bathroom
There was an image of an old man there
“Are you a mirror?” I asked the image
“No, I’m another old man,” said the image
I was frightened, and ran off
Back to my home, which I know has some mirrors
I know I should be grateful that I’m not the only old man in the world
But I wish I could tell the difference better between Mirrors and Other Me’s.

Gastronomic Recidivism

One time, alone
I ate
A thing
I shouldn’t have.

It was
A thing
I shouldn’t eat
(I ate).

I wish that I
Could say
I never
Ate
That thing
Again.

But once
Is not
Enough
For eating
Things
You shouldn’t
Eat.

The Witch

Good riddance
Said the witch
She had just burned off the wart
That had once defined her sense of beauty and identity.

Mice Inside My Oven Mitt

There's mice inside my oven mitt
But take them out, I can't
'Cause when I try to dump them
I hear their morbid chant
"We're mice inside your oven mitt
And here's where we belong
If you evict us, all the world
Will crumble, rot and wrong.
The trees will melt, the dust will cry
The plants will wring and coil
The air will stench, the fur will shrink
The ponds will seethe and boil.
Black-putrid will be mothers milk
Choked dead the bluebirds' song
Sulfuric smoke, the once-pure air
The winter ten months long.
The earth will flood, then shrink and starve
From never-ending drought
So keep us in your oven mitt
And do not dump us out.”

Friday, May 15, 2015

Death to the Terrorist

We caught the terrorist!
and found that all his organs were made of glass.
He was sentenced to death,
and because I was that year’s Beauty Queen
I was also the Executioner.

Hair in curls, lipstick red
I took him to sea on a boat
and dumped him overboard.
“Drown, terrorist, drown!” I screamed
But before his glass lungs could fill up with water
he was crunched by the glass-eating mermaids.