Unicorn Cat

I heard a sad ‘meow’ in the woods near my house

And ran off to see where it led

To my wondrous surprise, I encountered a cat

With a sparkly horn on its head.

Why do you cry, cat? You ought to be glad.

Aren’t you pleased you’ve got such a nice horn?

“No, I am not,” mewed the unicorn cat

I used to be unicorn full

With muscular legs and a glittery mane

And a tail of silver and gold.”

What happened then, cat? You must have transformed.

Were you cursed? Were you punished? Bewitched?

“I’d just learned to fly,” moaned the unicorn cat

“‘Twas the very first time that I flew.

“Fly near to the rainbow,” my mother had said

“But never, don’t ever, fly through.”

What happened then, cat? Did you go very high?

Or get blown by tumultuous wind?

“I flew to the rainbow as quick as I could,”

Said the cat with its mythical prong

“I thought rainbows were silent, but this one was not

It broke into a beautiful song.

Its voice was enchanting; it pierced through my heart

And turned all my muscles to glue

The song had two words, and they echoed like bells:

“Fly through!” sang the rainbow. “Fly through!”

What happened then, cat? Did you manage to flee?

Did the rainbow keep singing its song?

“I pictured my mother: her silver-white face

Her voice saying: Never go through…

But her image went *poof * and then all I could see

Was red, orange, yellow, green, blue.

I passed through the rainbow; the feeling was bliss

The world was a colorful blur

And when I arrived on the arc’s other side

I was tiny and covered in fur.”

What happened then, cat? Did you tumble and fall?

How is it now you’re alive?

“The woods broke my fall, and I landed on leaves

And now all I do is meow

I want to find meaning and joy as a cat

But I’ve honestly no idea how.”

Do you want to be mine? You would be a good pet

I could feed you and polish your horn.

“That won’t work,” said the cat

“I’m a unicorn, see? I must live my life in the sky

I have to be magical, wondrous, and free

But I don’t even think I can fly.”

Have you tried or attempted? Perhaps you still can

With the magic that’s found in your horn

The cat scrunched its face, and made low growling sounds

The strangest I ever have heard

It managed to summon its magic, I guess

‘Cause it flew to the sky like a bird!

It had rained hard that morning, and then there’d been sun

So there now was a rainbow of course

I saw the small kitten fly straight through the red

And I thought it’d emerge as a horse!

Instead it came out as the cat that it was

And so, for a sec, I was sad

It’s no magical horse with a glittering mane

But hey, for a cat, it’s not bad.

Wonkbeast and Blinkworm

Wonkbeast, antlers big as goats

Skin like barnacles on boats

Teeth are yellow, eyes are red

Maggots dwell upon his head

Everyone cries when the blinkworm dies

But none shed a tear for the wonkbeast.

Blinkworm, handsome, thin and tall

Skin as perfect as a doll

Smells like fresh-baked cakes and sweets

Silver slippers on his feet

Everyone cries when the blinkworm dies

But none shed a tear for the wonkbeast.

Wonkbeast, shy and good at math

Never learned to take a bath

Stutters when he tries to speak

Hairy wart upon his cheek

Everyone cries when the blinkworm dies

But none shed a tear for the wonkbeast.

Blinkworm, extroverted, loud

Loves to talk in front of crowds

Drives a brand new Rolls Royce

Has a lovely singing voice

Everyone cries when the blinkworm dies

But none shed a tear for the wonkbeast.

Wonkbeast, gentle, clumsy, fat

Cooks his oatmeal in a vat

Rescues birds that fall from nests

Knits scum-colored sweater vests

Everyone cries when the blinkworm dies

But none shed a tear for the wonkbeast.

Blinkworm’s wallet’s full of dough

(Where’d he get that money, though?)

Throws a giant public fair

With circus girls and dancing bears

Everyone cries when the blinkworm dies

But none shed a tear for the wonkbeast.

Wonkbeast lives to ninety-three

Sits beneath a willow tree

There he sucks his final breath

And, alone, succumbs to death

Everyone cries when the blinkworm dies

But none shed a tear for the wonkbeast

Blinkworm leaves a paper trail

Of laundered money; goes to jail

But someone with a lot of clout

Proudly bails the blinkworm out

Everyone cries when the blinkworm dies

But none shed a tear for the wonkbeast.

Wonkbeast’s corpse has turned to dust

Blinkworm dies, as blinkworms must

Hordes of mourners come in waves

To sob upon the blinkworm’s grave

Everyone cries when the blinkworm dies

But none shed a tear for the wonkbeast.

Savior

I danced with you last night
Your hair like polished mangos


Everyone wanted to dance with you also
But you were my treasure


A blood spot on the shoulder of your dress
From where the flying dog had sunk its teeth


You must have smelled like Martian meat
Your space suit was too flimsy for those fangs


I heard your screams and stumbled from the bar
The dog pack turned its vicious snarls to me


You hovered while I laser-gunned those dogs
The heat from your jet boots brought sweat to my neck


You danced with me on earth as my reward
I chose a smoky dance hall in the South


I watched the dogtooth blood spot as we swayed
And only sometimes traveled to the planets of your eyes

A Buddha Very Silly

A Buddha very silly

With a ribbon on his willie

Went a-seeking for some women

Who would play with him croquet.

But the Buddha very silly

Due to ribbon on his willie

When approaching fancy ladies

Sent them scattering away.

Feeling rather under-flattered

‘Cause the women all had scattered

Buddha sighed and sadly juggled

All the balls of his croquet.

Then he heard a sudden giggle

Which provoked his ears to wriggle

And he turned and saw a badger

And he heard the badger say:

“Excuse me, Buddha, sire

But it’s quite hard to acquire

Women who will want to join you

With a ribbon on your dick.

If the garland you remove then

It’s quite likely you’ll improve

Your probabilities and hopes

Of finding croquet partnership.”

“I like you, Mr. Badger,”

said the Buddha. “And I’d wager

That you wouldn’t give advice

If it were not profoundly good.

If I ought not wear this lace

On my most manly body place

Then what should I use to cover

My enlightened sword of flesh?”

“I do opine,” the badger said

“That trousers would be best.”

So the Buddha very silly

Took the ribbon off his willie

Bought some trousers at the market

And walked back into the town

He asked a woman in a dress

And to his pleasure she said yes

Would her friends join? Yes, indeed!

And this reversed the Buddha’s frown.

The partners found a lawn

And played croquet from dusk ‘til dawn

Using special Buddha headlamps

They had bought for just that use.

The Buddha lost the game

But much enjoyed it all the same

And during sunrise, all enjoyed

A lovely picnic of fresh fruits.

Mud Hole in the Desert

I can remember life before this

When I used to eat cauliflower

I went to the desert to observe the rocks

Everything was flat

I stepped into this mud hole to cool off

Got stuck here

Now, for life, I am trapped in the mud

My throat is dry

I sleep during the hottest part of the day

Sometimes the mud boils

I wake up at five p.m.

A blue raven flies overhead, always punctual

The harsh mud-warming sun goes down

I am awake during all of the night

For the first few years, I saw the light-lit sky

A black banquet with so many candles

Then, as my education continued

The sky became a blackboard

And as I could not solve celestial math

The gods erased the stars.

Pantano en el Desierto

Recuerdo la vida antes de esto

Cuando solía comer coliflor

Fui al desierto para ver las rocas

Todo era plano

Entré en este fango para refrescarme

Me hundí

Ahora, y por siempre, estoy en el barro

Tengo sed

Duermo durante la parte mas cálida del día

A veces el barro hierve

Me despierto a las cinco 

Un cuervo azul vuela por encima, siempre puntual

El sol que calienta el barro se baja

Estoy despierto toda la noche

Los primeros años, veía el cielo encendido

Banquete negro con tantas velitas

Después, cuando continuaba mi educación

El cielo se convirtió en tablero

Y como no podía resolver las matemáticas celestes

Los dioses borraron las estrellas.

Moonfetti

The xomwoggler goon

Did ate with a spoon

The multi-hued sprinkles

He found on the moon

That was long time ago

So now nobody dream

That the moon is a scoop

Of funfetti ice cream

Thanks to xomwoggler goon

No one knew, no one knows

Unless, as we speak, the moonfetti re-grows

The Indecision Monster

The indecision monster

Is the meanest one of all

He’s made of murky mushness

And he’s ten or twelve feet tall.

He’s bigger than your want-to

And he’s bigger than your will

And thoughts like: “I shall buy these shoes”

He’ll torture, slash and kill.

He’ll stun you to a statue

When you try to send a text

And set your inner GPS

To ‘address of your ex.’

He’ll make you want to go to Spain

Or maybe write a book

And then his team of ‘don’t elves’

Show up everywhere you look.

The don’t elves sing cacophonies

Of pros, cons, fors, againsts

And when you try to run from them

They strap you on the fence.

You can tape the monster’s mouth shut

And ignore his don’t elf team

But they’ll re-emerge as actors

In a cautionary dream.

This nasty monster traps

Your most assured, decisive thoughts

Then injects them with an equal dose

Of “ought tos” and “ought nots”

You’ll be chewing on your flounder

Thinking: “Should’ve got the steak.”

He’ll make you wobble like a top

‘Round every choice you make.

The more you try to fight him

The more massive he will grow

‘Cause after all he feeds on words

Like “shouldn’t,” “don’t,” and “no.”

You might as well embrace him

Since he’s only made of mush

And as it’s such a shock to him

It often makes him shush.

Mountains of Sugar

Mountains of sugar

Sugary dust

I ate it all up

As a sugar freak must

My eyeballs turned red

And my tongue-skin turned white

I jumped rope on a treadmill

For half of the night

And then I collapsed

And the sugar drained out

Spilled out of my nose

As if it were a spout.

I woke up to find

Piles of sugar with snot

I ate it all up

As a sugar freak ought

With kneecaps a-shaking

And knuckles a-tense

I drilled eighty holes

In the planks of a fence

And then I collapsed

And the sugar I lost it

Poured out of my ear

As if it were a faucet.

I woke up to find

Piles of sugar with wax

I ate it all up

(That’s how sugar freaks act)

My forehead had spasms

My liver went limp

I caught and released

Forty thousand small shrimp

And then I collapsed

And the sugar just stayed

There’s a three-swallow rule

And the sugar obeyed.

I twitched while I slept

And my insulin spiked

But when I woke up

I felt pretty all right.

I Wish I Was a Wicked Man

I wish I was a wicked man

I hate to be a saint

I wish I did the kind of things

That’d make your granny faint.

I wish I had an evil glare

An evil cackle, too

I’d glare and cackle just before

I stabbed and burgled you.

You’d say: “Who was that wicked man

With such a chilling stare?

I wonder what dark treasures

He stores up inside his lair.”

And you’d be right, I’d have a lair

With flapping bats and snakes

And eerie ghosts who’d give

The most heroic men the shakes.

The cops would try to find me

They'd recruit their smartest hound

But I’d be so sly and cunning

They could never track me down.

I’d be drowning puppies, cackling

MUAHAHA without restraint

And you can’t have that kind of wicked joy

If you’re a saint.

Futile

Snake tries to eat its own tail

Thought tries to think its own thought

Veil tries to veil its own veil

Knot tries to tie its own knot.

Dying to know your own mind?

Cage cannot make itself caught

‘Cause objects are different, specific, distinct

Except when All’s One, and they’re not.

I Like to Make Eggs for My Friend the Old Man

I like to make eggs

For my friend the old man

I crack them and beat them

He sits in his chair.

“Are you comfortable, friend?”

He nods and looks distant

His head has brown age spots

And tufts of gray hair.

He likes his eggs scrambled

And cooked ‘til they’re shriveled

He likes them so roasted

They stick to the pan.

He doesn’t have teeth

So he has to just gum them

He likes to say: “Gums

Can do all that teeth can.”

And I don’t like eggs

So I just watch him eating

The eggs make him sleepy

He sleeps in his chair.

I take out my fiddle

And play while he’s snoozing

Performing soft music

I wrote for the air.

At six it’s the sunset

And that always wakes him

Snaps out of his slumber

Sometimes in mid-snore.

“Sunsets,” he sighs

“Are the paint strokes of angels

I’d murder the fellow

Who said they’re a bore.”

And after the sunset

He has to get going

His cat needs its dinner

And needs to be pet.

I hand him his hat and say:

“See you tomorrow?”

He says with his gum-grin:

“Sure, sonny. You bet.”

The Useless Broom

No, no! I’m afraid

That you can’t use that broom

It’s an old haunted broom

That we found in a tomb

It won’t collect dust

It just scatters it more

And it makes screeching sounds

When it’s dragged ‘cross the floor

At night, when I’m sleeping

It stands by my bed

Sweeping nightmares of doom

To my dream-heavy head

When I wake in the morning

I’m desperate to clean

A clean house would assuage

The dark visions I’ve seen

But I can’t

‘Cause my broom is an agent of Death

So it’s best to stay in

And just snort some more meth.

Don’t Look A Gift Horse in Any of Its Orifices

Behold the zebra, it’s a horse

With white and blackish stripes, of course

It also has a stripey mane

I’ve stuffed its butt with pure cocaine

We’ll border cross without a hitch

Then me & zebra filthy rich.

I Like Some Things More Than Others

I like to write poems

More than I like combs

More than I like phones

More than I like bones

More than I like foam

More than I like drones

More than I like domes

More than I like stones

But not more than I like putting gnomes in rest homes.

Yellow Moon

At night I saw a yellow moon

It looked a lot like butter.

Its smile was like an aeroplane

I heard it start to mutter:

“Doozle grimple grog mabop

Spizznit twimble fwee.

Poox-a-flimbat sozzle bot.

Zop da-kumquat blee.”

“Excuse me, yellow moon,” I said.

“I didn’t get the gist.

I heard you mention ‘kumquat’

But the rest of it I missed.”

“Grizzle doom-rock neeple-bap.

Bicnick poffle hoo.

Moog gorilla weezle gauze.

Rimbim moz-man koo.”

“Doom-rock? Poffle? Moog?”

I said. “You’re talking like a loony.

I guess you don’t know English, huh?

You must be speaking Moony.”

I turned to go, because I thought

I’d never understand.

We lived in different worlds;

we were like hummingbirds to sand.

But as I turned to leave

The moon again began to speak

Its aeroplane smile made dimples

In its butter-yellow cheeks.

“Shh,” it whispered. “Pretty boy.

I know your secret charms.

You’re not insane. And someday soon

I’ll hold you in my arms.”

“Excuse me, you’ll do what?” I said

But then a great gray cloud

Obscured the moon’s celestial face

A sort of misty shroud.

Who are you, moon? Why tell me

That you know my secret charms?

Why promise that you’ll hold me

When you don't have any arms?

I went back to my chilly house

And asked my grandma why

I’d heard such strange, uncanny things

From something in the sky.

“The moon knows only nonsense.”

Granny said. “Don’t pay it heed.

But ain’t it true that sometimes

Nonsense’s just the thing we need?

It’s all mysteryus, sonny boy.

Don’t understand? Don’t try.

C’mere, let granny tuck you in

And sing a lullaby.”

Although I’m not a child, I let

My granny tuck me in

Her breath made fog-clouds in the cold

And smelled like flour and gin.

“Doozle grimple grog,” she sang

Spizznit twimble fwee.”

I fell asleep at “sozzle bot.”

Began to dream at “blee.”

The Clairvoyant

The clairvoyant peered into her clear crystal ball

Her eyes grew big and her nose grew small

“You are doomed!” she proclaimed. “You must exit this place!”

Then her nose disappeared—got sucked into her face

She was just eyes and mouth, and her eyes got gigantic

Her breathing was frenzied, her pupils were frantic

Her eyes getting larger, her limbs shrinking small

Her body turned into the size of a doll

“You are doomed!” she repeated. “You’re certainly cursed!”

Then her eyes grew so huge that I thought they would burst

And they did! And their eye jelly splattered and flew

Landed smack on the walls, like wet, ocular glue

And I couldn’t help then but feel slightly annoyed...
If that is clairvoyance, I’ll stay unclairvoyed.

If I Were a Hedgehog

If I were a hedgehog

My name tag would say:

“Not usually hedgehog.

It’s just for today.”

A Friend from Japan

I would like to make friends

With a girl from Japan

I would make her dessert

Like a burnt caramel flan

We’d sit on the porch

Putting gloss on our lips

And the men that walked by

Would say, ‘Look at them chicks.’

At night we’d watch films

And eat popcorn and sweets

We’d paint all the nails

On our hands and our feets.

I’d only speak English

And she, Japanese

So we wouldn’t much talk

Just say, “thank you” and “please.”

She’d live down the street

With a cat as a pet

She’d be scared of the dark

And of things that are wet

So on days when it rained

I would go to her floor

I would take off my shoes

When I entered the door

We’d read anime comics

And pet the cat’s fur

I’d be giggly and loud

She’d be shy and demur

Her name would be Momo

Or Kyo Mitsuru

And I’d bring her warm soup

If she came down with flu

She’d make me a mobile
Of bright paper cranes

I’d paint her a picture

Of old-fashioned trains

We’d be always together

Link arms on the street

I’m a little bit wide-ish

But she’d be petite.

I'm alone, so I hope

That she comes in a hurry

But she probably won’t

‘Cause I live in Missouri.

Transvestite Garden Gnome

Two weeks ago my garden gnome

Had snuck inside my house

I caught him in my closet

In my frilly socks and blouse.

“What are you doing, little gnome?”

“Um, nothing,” he replied.

“It’s fine if you like ladies’ clothes,”

I said. “No need to hide.”

“You’re not upset?” the fellow asked

“I’m not. I’m just surprised.

But let me see if I can’t find

Some outfits in your size.”

I found a shirt I used to wear

(I’d shrunk it in the wash)

I also found a wide-brimmed hat

The color of a squash.

“Do you like skirts or shorts?” I asked

The gnome replied: “Skirts, please.”

And so I found a ruffly one

That fluttered in the breeze

The garden gnome was shyly thrilled

“What lovely clothes!” he gushed

“You look just gorgeous,” I replied.

The garden gnome just blushed.

“You think I could come every day?”

He asked. “To try things on?

And wear a different outfit

Every day upon your lawn?”

“Of course you can,” I offered him

“If that’s what you desire.

In fact, I’ll give you all the clothes

That shrunk up in the dryer.”

“Wow, thanks!” he said, “And one more thing…

I know you named me Schmee.

But could you call me Trixie?

I think that it’s more me.”

“Okay,” I said, and now, each day

When I head out from home

I smile and wave to ‘Trixie’
My transvestite garden gnome.

Half-Boozer, Half-Parrot

This is my beak

I use it to speak

My mom was a parrot

My dad was a drunk.

Half-boozer, half-parrot

I really can’t bear it

My torso has feathers

My liver has shrunk.

My dad wasn’t sober

That fateful October

He thought he’d got hold

Of a girl, not a bird.

Because of his habit

That lusty old maggot

Knew not what he screwed

‘Cause his vision was blurred.

I was born from an egg

And I nursed from a keg

And now I’m as drunk

As my lousy old man.

He’s degenerate waste

And has terrible taste

In his partners. But hey,

He can’t fly, and I can.

A Curse on Mosquitoes

I have been bitten
I wrote, it is written

That I have been bitten

By biters unseen.

Those unforeseen biters

Those come-out-at-nighters

Have bitten me everywhere.

Why? ‘Cause they’re mean.

Some folks call them skeeters

They’re pro blood depleters

They’ll suck ‘til they burst

With the weight of your gore

You can try citronella

But I’m here to tell ya

There’s nothing that won’t make

The bastards want more.

They’re not earthly creatures

Those demon blood-leechers

They’re born from a dark, diabolical void.

Sure, you can kill one

With your finger and thumb

But the unholy masses?

They can’t be destroyed.

And when they do bite you

I warn that despite

Your best efforts, you cannot avoid

Those blood-sucking meanies

Those vampire houdinis

They’ll bite even more

If they know you’re annoyed.

Poems as a Response to the Cyclic Consciousness of Nature

A poem is just a poet’s way

Of sniffing out the season

She writes the poems because she breathes

There is no other reason

In autumn, poems go floating

To the earth, like leaves to lakes

In winter, poems are crystallized

In icy, mirrored flakes

In springtime, poems go fluttering

Like tiny birds from nests

In summer, poems burst forth

Like drops of sweat on women’s breasts

The poet sees and smells it all

And breathes it out in words

And poems are written just like chirps

Are uttered from the birds.

Weak Old Man

Here I come, I’m a weak old man

I can barely push my shopping cart I’m so weak

My shopping cart has all the things I own in it

A sleeping bag, some bananas, a dead ferret

I’m so weak my heart could stop beating any second

I don’t have any children so no one will care if I die

I don’t know how to use technology

But I am happy because I know how to watch the sky

And look at the withered skeletons of the clouds

Seeing in them a reflection of my own weakness

I know how to listen to the language of the birds

I can hear them cursing

They have dirty, dirty minds

A Cave of Blind Birds

We crawled through a cave

That was full of blind birds

We waded through pools

That were full of their turds

It was so very dark

We could not see at all

The cave was enormous

And drippy and tall

One girl in our group

Lay down and she sang

With long, haunting notes

That slithered and rang

The cave echoed back

Like a vibrating gong

The melody softened

Dark, spooky and long

I felt like an outcast

Long-lost in that cave

I knew, to survive

I would have to be brave

I’d have to find out

How to hunt those damn birds

That nested above us

And dropped down their turds

I’d have to find out

What water to drink

The cave water sure wasn’t fresh

Like the sink

And if someone died

Would we eat up their corpse?

Would we bury them somewhere?

Or feel much remorse?

I thought of the time

When our flashlights would die

And we would be blind

Would all of us cry?

We’d live in a dark world

Of echoes and cold

Not able to watch

As our faces grew old

A life with no mirrors

A life of long beards

A life in the dark

It was all that I feared

But we simply kept crawling

And then we saw light

A hole at the tunnel

The end of the night

No one would be eating

The other one’s corpse

No one would be living

In sightless time warps

We simply jumped out

Of the cave, where we found

A pool that was crystal blue

Lukewarm and round

We splashed in the pool

There were no blind birds

We sometimes sang out

But no echoes were heard

And then we returned

To our everyday lives

Not wondering how

To kill birds and survive

And I do miss the cave

With its dark, drippy fright

But I guess in the end

I prefer to have light.

Ooze

There is a piece of ooze on the sidewalk

It could be the casing of some wondrous slug

Or a segment of jelly made from cow hoof.

It could be some snot from a child,

Or it could be alien ooze

Invisible antennas perked, listening.

Relaying your voice to its masters as you say: “Ick!”

And when your voice is decoded,

the masters will know you feel disgust at their form.

We cannot go there, they will say, to share our marvelous instrument, the Celestial Harmonica.

No, if we ooze aliens go to this earth, they will see us as mere hunks of snot.

Better, then, if the ooze is the casing of some wondrous slug

Or a segment of jelly made from cow hoof.

To Not Have Needs

Among the dead, I sat and read

The book aroused some grief

A digger dug a nice, neat grave

Less tidy were his teeth

A girl walked by in Catholic skirt

Put flowers on a tomb

Her grandma had gone on to dwell

In some post-mortem womb

The digger in the sun is brave

To do his morbid chore

A grave is brave to hold the dead

Not vomit up the gore

The skirted girl needs Grandma back

The digger needs new teeth

But I am needless in the shade

The book, the grave, the grief

Angels of Death

Some angels are dangerous, angels of death

They look like old rags and they smell like burnt meth

They’ll watch from above with their squinty, red eyes

They work for the devil, professional spies

They’ll leap down from their perch on a telephone pole

They will land on your chest and they’ll sniff out your soul

And if, in your soul, they smell shame, fear or doubt

They’ll stick in their straw and they’ll suck your soul out

So unless you’re scrubbed clean of such things, I’d advise

You watch out for old rags that have squinty, red eyes.

A Love Poem

I want to make you out of clay

Your hair will be curly snippets of yarn

You’ll have raisins for eyes

Did you know you have raisin-black eyes?

I want to craft your tits

As two clay hills

I want you to sit in my fridge

So on days when my hands sweat,

I can hold cool clay.

I don’t want you to have free will

Because you might end up in someone else’s fridge

Someone who always has cold hands, even in summer,

And doesn’t want to hold you.

Bears

You and me, we once were bears

And bears we once-time were

We both had claws and pointy teeth

And thick, protective fur.

I tugged and pinched your fuzzy fur

And asked you to be mine

With rat bones, leaves and squirrel guts

I made a Valentine.

You said, “How sweet! A Valentine!”

It sounded like, “Rarr-rurrrr.”

And how I trembled when you tugged

And pinched my fuzzy fur.

We made sweet, bearish love in caves

And hunted fish in streams

We slept together, paws held tight

And met again in dreams.

And when the winter came we slept

The cold was sharp as pins

And when we woke, we were not bears

But Homo sapiens.

We went into the city then

And each obtained a job

You changed your name to Susan Beth

I changed my name to Bob.

We don't have caves for making love

Just mattress-on-the-floor

We don’t snatch fish from raging streams

Just buy it from the store.

And we don't tug or pinch too much

Because we don't have fur

But you and me, we once were bears

And bears we once-time were.

Jabberwocky Does Chores

‘Twas brillig and the Jabberwock

Had much to do around the house

Replacing lightbulbs, sweeping dust

And setting mice traps for the mouse.

And when he’d done those basic chores

No more did he the Missus fear

So rested he by the Tumtum tree

And drank a large and frothy beer.

And as in uffish thought he stood

He scraped his claw upon his tooth

And then remembered: “Frabjous drat!

I’ve got to fix the leaky roof!”

So, Jabberwock, with eyes of flame

Went whiffling up to fix the roof

But ladder’s rungs went snicker-snack!

He fell with one galumphing OOF.

“Ooch, ow! Ow, ush! I’ve bruised my tush!”

The Jabberwock began to moan

And with his tail between his legs

He went galumphing, sadly, home.

“And hast thou fixed the gutters yet?”

Mrs. Jabberwock was quick to ask

He shook his head, and showed instead

His bruised and battered Jabber-ass.

‘Twas brillig and the Jabber’s wife

All beamish, called the Bandersnatch

Described in full her husband’s fall

And chortled something awful.

My Weirdest Tinder Date

Chasing after my most recent Tinder date

Shouting: “Hey, you left your sweater, baby! Wait!”

She runs faster; I speed up—is this a race?

Tap her shoulder and she turns; I see her face

What this?! A gumdrop nose?! An oven tan?!

She's transformed! She is the Gingerbread Man!

“You can’t catch me!” she cackles, and I gasp

She kicks me, takes the sweater in her grasp

Still in shock, I watch her run for two more blocks

Running after her are bankers, maids, a fox…

Pretty soon half of New York is on the chase
They're obsessed; they want to eat her cookie face

“You can’t catch me!” she exclaims, “It’s all in vain!”

Then the gray Manhattan sky begins to rain

She turns soggy and she stumbles; she is weak

Her cookie flesh is melting-- "Help!" she shrieks

The mob attacks her; fox and maids are crushed

The bankers stuff their mouths with bready mush
The world is sick with mindless greed, I fear.

I take the sweater as a souvenir.

Water

Water—when I climbed to the top of the tall tower, gasping

I looked everywhere for you, but oh, you sneak!

The only moistness was on the back of a slick toad

I grasped at it once and once again; it leapt from my hands like soap!

And so, Water, I ran down the staircase to the underground

Searching the crypt to see if I would find you there

And oh, you sneak! I found your dewdrops on the rattiest shrouds

And from my candlelight, you winked at me, so cheeky!

I would lick you from a toad, but from a shroud?

….

Yes, as it turns out.

But don’t let it go to your head.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

The Giantess Wolf

Look at the big tall giantess wolf

Who sits on her giantess chair

Her paws can be found with their claws on the ground 

While the clouds brush her ears and her hair

Giant wolf, giant wolf, can you tell me, my dear

Where you found such a long-legged chair?

Though I'm just a small boy, I as well would enjoy

Bridging earth with the clouds in the air.

Angels

We go running around with our angel wings on

And our wee naked butts in the air

“We are angels!” we yell, and we hoot and we hop

And the well-dressed aristocrats stare

And they whisper: “What hooligans!

Surely they know that an angel is modest and mild.

Real angels wear dresses and carry a harp

And their hair is well-combed and well-styled.”

“Poo that!” we reply, as we climb up the church

And throw melons and eggs from the top

“Gifts from heaven!” we cry, as we watch the goop land

On the fancy folks’ heads—squish squelch slop.

Surely I'm in Paradise

Surely I'm in paradise

Surely I am here 

For chimes and birdsong enter

In the seashell of each ear

For goats are grazing near at hand

And chickens peck through dirt

A snake a-wiggles, bugs a-crawl

The mountain stands inert

And all around, there's only green

Banana trees and plants

There's green until the moon devours 

My paper, pen and pants

Until I'm nude and empty

In the bugs-a-chirping night

Declaring, "I'm in paradise!"

'Til all fades out of sight.

Crazy in Love

We held hands and got ice cream, took turns taking licks

We held hands and watched buskers perform magic tricks

We held hands and we window-shopped painted guitars

We held hands and we lay on our backs counting stars

We held hands and each chewed off the other one’s thumb

That was dumb.

The Royal Steak

A princess stands still on a bed of pale lettuce

In her hands, she holds a dark, raw steak.

The steak drips red and stains the pale lettuce

And the hands of the princess start to shake.

She tries to keep hold of the steak, but it’s slipping

‘Cause her hands spasm wildly in the air

The dark, raw steak drops splat on the lettuce

And the princess in her trance can only stare.

“You have dropped the royal steak!” chides the King

“You’re a moron! Fifty lashes with a whip shall be your prize!”

With a thwack thwack thwack, the Lasher whips her back

And her buttocks and the flesh-twins of her thighs.

The princess stands still on the bed of pale lettuce

‘Til her blood runs down her backside to her feet

Then the King scoops up the bed of pale lettuce

And says to the princess: “Eat.”

The princess eats the blood-imbued lettuce

With her hands, which still haven’t ceased to shake.

“There, there,” says the Queen. “I know it’s not pleasant.

But it’s only fair. You dropped the royal steak.”

The Beautiful Wolves

The beautiful wolves

In their tuxes and gowns

Have secret soirees

On the outskirts of town

Walking on their hind legs

With their snouts in the air

The females look classy

The men, debonair

They enter a building

The outside is plain

But the inside boasts gold chandeliers

And champagne

They sip drinks and they schmooze

Whisper gossip, make quips

Invent scandals, spread rumors

And lie between sips

They are there to be viewed

And each wolf is a viewer

A waiter serves fresh, bloody meat

On a skewer

A magician breathes fire

And is met with applause

Dainty flutters of praise

From their manicured paws

Then Arabian she-wolves

Perform for the crowd

Tinkling coins on their skirts

And their snouts in silk shrouds

And the beautiful wolves

Say, “How fetching!” “Divine!”

As their pour down their gullets

Their glassfuls of wine

And by four in the morning

Their eyes are all glazed

Their cacophonous chatter

Occurs in a haze

When it’s time to depart

They say, “It’s been a treat.”

And wrapped up in their furs,

They hail cabs from the street.

Oh, you fine, sumptuous wolves

Have you had a nice night?

Then return to your dens, you drunk fools

And sleep tight.

Toy Boat

Toy boat toy boat 
What keeps the boat afloat afloat?
Perhaps it is the water beneath
Which holds the boat in watery teeth
Perhaps it is the air above
Which grips the boat with an oxygen glove
Perhaps it's held by invisible string
Puppeteered by a bird with a silver wing
When the teeth unlatch and the air lets go
And the bird disappears, then I think I know
Yes I think I know and I know I think
That when that occurs, that the boat will sink.

Transitions

In the tub

Eating a hundred plastic dinosaurs

Swallowing tiny stegosaurus spikes

Feeling Jurassic.

On the roof

Planting a hundred yellow daffodils

Watching the sun watch me plant daffodils

Feeling paranoid about the possible personhood of the sun.

In the bed

Scratching my ears with a fork

Scratching the fork with my ears

Tickling between the four prongs

The fork laughs…

In my dreams

Hearing the laughter of the fork

Digesting the dinosaurs

Feeling paranoid about the possible personhood of the moon…

Because, are they on our side, the celestial bodies?

It hurts

I can’t digest the dinosaurs

I wake up with sun in one eye and moon in the other

I can’t remember how many daffodils

Or whether I watered them

Or whether they were seeds or bulbs

Or whether I grew from or was planted in this world.

Termites

One child has termites in his belly.

They are grateful for the food.

They pass it among themselves, termite mouth to termite mouth.

Each termite plays a part in digestion.

When the sun sets, you can hear them say “Goodnight, Mom.”

They have no other word to refer to the child.

A Man Who Needs a Friend

There is a little man who lives in a little house and hates whenever he sees something blue.

If you offer him a stick of gum and it is green no problem.

If you offer him a stick of gum and it is blue he will pull out fistfuls of his own hair and shove them madly into the small spaces surrounding his eyeballs.

If you show him a poem you wrote in black ink no problem.

If you show him a poem you wrote in blue ink he will bellow and whine and screech and howl and defecate in graveyards.

Please be his friend.

He so desperately needs you to show him things that aren’t blue...

To Sit Still Long Enough...

At night when you can sit still

Long enough to love the cockroaches

Long enough to forgive them their germs, their exoskeletons

Long enough to invite them warmly into this world

Long enough to know that they are you, really

Then the smallest angel will alight on your shoulder

And that will be bliss.

When you arrive in Medellín

When you arrive in Medellín

The air is dirtier

The women have fake breasts

An ad the size of New York says ‘Sex Underwear’

The subway intercom tells you to smile

The sliced mangos come with salt

The old men are cute and wear their belts tight

To keep their pants from sliding down

Their flat, flat asses.