Thursday, April 18, 2019


Don’t Look Now, But I Believe I’m Already Back.

I did not have the moral rectitude to tell her
that he’d never left in the first place.  “Not
even to smoke a cigar on the verandah?” I
heard this slowing, squeaky question from 
the back row and knew exactly what to do with 
it.  “Not even,” to which there was a long pause.
“Now just a moment, everyone.  Let me ask
you to each close your eyes.  All of you, now, 
okay?  Yes, it’s dark now.  The midnight hour 
truly approacheth (as the man sayeth).  A 
little bit like night, because it is the dead of
night.  Now can you.  Each.  Just imagine.  How 
uttetterly, painfully, beautifully beyond sexy that 
scene must have been.  [Shorter pause]  Man, 
those really were the days, weren’t they?  Gosh.  
And. Oh.  You can open your eyes back up again.
Thanks very much and have a wonderful mid-
night, everyone.

Tuesday, April 09, 2019


Recognizing Our Gophers And Going For Them

Most folks have goals, a

goal or two, semblances
of them, maybe a sem-
blance of one, but as
the song says (and
who doesn't remem-
ber this one), there's
gonna be a heartache
tonight.  Go ahead,
look at the lady or
gentleman you've
probably never met
in the seat to your
right or to your
left (I checked
and most of you
are onesies, so
don't even sidle
me a lip-pursed
glance).  We
cannot, each
and every one
of us, remain
so incessantly
contrite about
the structures
of our senten-
ces.  Leniency
will not be tol-
erated ladies
and gentlemen.
And that's no
pun intended,
I'm as serious
as cancer.  And
I've been led to
understand that
can be pretty
darned serious.
But you can
win this lottery,
folks.  So, it's
your turn now.
What's your
beef?  What's
this lady's 
cause for
each and
every one
of us rec-
ognize fail-
ure well e-
nough to
have the
word con-
stantly on
the tip of
our tongues?
So what are
we going to
do?  I'll tell
you what
we're going
to do.  We're
going to get
up, walk out
those doors, 
and start cut-
ting out the
vast majority
of human
If that won't
end the strug-
gle, we're all

Monday, April 08, 2019


It Wasn’t an Event to Invoke a
Nonconformist’s Cliché About
a Higher Power.  Nor Was It
One to Untether One’s Wife-
ly Duties and Make Any Sud-
den Moves Toward Upsetting
the Applecart.  But rest and
relaxation are nevertheless....

The inquiring and quite intimidated gargoyles
were the subjects, I believe, of the article I
was enjoying at the time.  Dinner was running
a bit late, which is hot at all out of the norm.
And, also not unusal, the two Auntie's were
standing near the gas hearth, stock still, in
the particular way they always loved to pose,
believing themselves so very hip to the Age
of the Selfie Stick, as they called it.  Ron’s 
dun-colored mastiff arrived at the perfect 
time, spilled the entire bowl of pinto beans 
and somehow me under our elaborately-hewn
(I the had a moment to notice) dining room 
table.  Neither of us had ever pretended it
was an actual dining room.  But I was insis-
tent that it be both a room and a site with-
in which something akin to dining would at
least occasionally occur.  Anyway, no matter 
how seriously the belligerent Aunties were 
when it came to the diligence of their par-
ticular idea of hip portraiture, with its aw-
kwardly erect and severe look to a photo-
graphic layperson such as I (okay, it’d been
maybe a 7-minute duration of immobility
thus far.  But my god!  If they gave out an 
award for Best Mannequins Alive each Year,
well, they’d probably be dining with Meryl
Streep and not their petty “nieces” at the
moment).  One bare shrimp the length and 
(literal) texture of the gullet of an egret
makes for neither fine & dandy nor fine 
nor dandy.  On any occasion.  While I 
might be keenly aware that beauty is in
the eye of the beholder (that is my opinion
on that subject if it can actually be an op-
inion and not a fact; a fact with which Ive
had enormous amounts of luck if you'd ask
me, but then that would make light of the
fact that facts are facts, I suppose —
so don't expect me to budge from the opinion
that this fact is, um, a fact.) the poor gals
suddenly looked as if they might lose con-
sciousness, like, pronto.  Fo some reason 
this though forced my eyes to roll back-
wards, well into angles pointing toward 
the depths of my sockets behind which
I'm to understand the very brain can be
seen if only a tiny flashlight were handy
on such unexpected occasions. Later on 
sometime shortly after my eyeballs flipped
back around in such a way that they (and
on this I can simply suspect, as always, 
never having any eyes but my own, of 
course) in a somewhat more human fash
ion, I found myself staring in horror at the 
still models of the century and their chitosan-
riddled eyeballs as they sort of scooted (like a 
dog does across the carpeted room when it 
needs to, you know, squeeze the Charmin)
slowly, skittersishly and, I did detect, madly
at me.  Needless to say we never made it 
to the bakeless blonde brownies on that 
particular special occasion (and of course
I’ve already forgotten what had made ini-
tially made this day so special in the first
place, but obviously they were here, to-ut 
gether, with us, and a meal was being
prepared, so something special must have
been happening at the time or within its
proximity.  I felt a joy that cannot at this
moment be put into words (which would,
of course, be quite exactly: The Aunties 
are leaving! The Aunties are leaving!) 
sprint like a maraton into my head with 
nothing less exuberant than sheer unre-
strained glee.  I’m struck now with some 
shock at how unashamed I am of relaying 
this to you.  But, you know, honesty and all.  
Ew.  Well, anyway.  I was able to 
control my normally uncontrollable reaction, 
that is to present anything anywhere upon 
the visible surface of me how happy I was 
about this breaking news.  In retrospect,
I’ll just say that a senior must refrain from 
acting in any fashion that might be construed 
(or, as is most often my case, misconstrued) 
as the least bit giddy at your Auntie's posing
so long at a gathering that you are hosting,
that they have to do anything short of (on
this day) calling the ambulance to leave
said gathering way early.  At the precise
point that the door was shut behind them,
I figure that if you’ve gotta guffaw, guffaw 
you must.  So what if you’re a senior.  The
horrid apologies can come later.  (And if
you're not yet a wise and elderly woman
or, I'm sure, man, and something guffaw-
like erupts, you can always just apologize,
say that you were just thinking about 
something from last month, and quickly
retreat to the ladies' room.  I’ve done it 
all my life and it seems to work for me.  
On most occasions, that is.  There was 
that one time, but never mind that.  That
one’s a full story to be told on another
date.  If we ever happen to have another
after this one.  You don't know this about
me yet, and perhaps never will, but even 
though I do often go on, I don't think that 
I have I ever once told a story in its need-
ful entirety?  Which reminds me: on the 
day of occasion in which the Aunties be-
came frozen models for a duration well
over which any 80 year old should remain
that immobile and barely breathing) it
would seem to me that I had finally be-
come a woman with wisdom.  Which is
a very cool thing, I think.  One thing
is certain and that is that I was the
hostess with the mostest that day.  Oh,
and on a smaller but related note, 
not even once have either of us, whilst 
shopping, which is usually late on any 
weekday evening (by which I suppose
I mean, in general, shortly after midnight), 
exhausted, the two of us leaning dependently 
upon the handle of our one oversized but 
mostly empty cart as it crawls ever so slowly
down every aisle at Target or Safeway or
wherever, never has there been any reaching
toward, or even pretending to even notice,
those boxes of bakeless blonde brownies.
They are simply slowly passed, and are
unnoticed much in the same way that
most scenery in a play might be.  We
are by all means only pretending not
to notice them, but like most all other
humans on this planet, we've all both
got peripheral vision (speaking of oddly
and often unnoticed facts).  And I 
may not guffaw as I glance from the
corner of my eye at, what at the sur-
face, looks and seems in concept like
a wonderful, wonderful thing.  But
I let out at least a half-chuckle every
single time.  A frequent event that
seems to happen to me in mostly
inopportune moments and ones ins
which I assure you NEVER go unnoticed.

Saturday, April 06, 2019


Clonk & Dagger

Aren’t there some folks
you just want to clonk
off?  Like leisure tops.
Or overgrown bananas
(by which I mean the
walking and talking 
kind; even though I
adore words that in
combination—or even
alone all by themselves—
make no sense at all).  As
if nonsense could even be-
gin to not make sense.  It’s
great fun to define things;
and to invoke context.  Esp-
ecially when therethere
seems to be none. Whether 
or not were talking physical
objects, living beings or act-
ual events.  At best it’s of 
courdamned tricky to get
even close to defining in
any appropriate manner.  
Out here in the wild, it’s 
really just moment by mo-
ment.  For each and all
of us.  Of proselytizing.
Of overbearingly emblaz-
oning what we call wisdom
onto unlistening juveniles.
And smarts?  Smarts doesn’t
necessarily help, either.  We
can be ditzy or else just plain 
(too) enmeshed (in the now?) 
to contextualize.  To context-
ualize properly.  Most especial-
ly in any historical sense.  Like 
words—like language itself, even—
context is never a law.  It’s always
just a hypothesis.  And as I was
saying only a few days ago, 
wouldn’t that be a terrific 
invention to patent and from
which to profit?  Wait a sec.  
Maybe it was actually Greg
who said that.  I forget.  But I 
by all means agreed.  One hun-
dred percent.  Ahem, well….   
Oh!  Apologies for losing track of 
where and what I was there for 
moment (and boy did I ever!).  
It’s just that I was in the mid-
dle of practicing all of these 
pretend sounds for my dreams 
tonight.  Omigod they work
like you would not believe!
And don't be ridiculous, please, 
yes, drop by anytime you’d like, 
Just like usual. How about 
for tomorrow’s circus?  Now
that should really be fun.
I tell ya, those animals!

Friday, April 05, 2019


The Funny Part About Vengeance

If your piece of lover
put on my piece of
lover long enough to
move from the flirty
stage to the I’m-so-
stage (each, of 
course “dancing”
onstage at this year’s
hottest circuit party – 
remember those? – 
which takes place
when these days,
by the way?) (and yes
I'm just a bit curious!) – 
long enough to grab
a piece of our next
lover (who’s one
and the same, but
of course!)  and
all three (that is
the grand sum of
all we’re talking
about here, am
I not somewhat 
on target?) would,
you know, seeing
that bore of a ham-
bone in action,
would create with-
in themselves (the
sum of the three
of them) at least
a slight enough 
confusion that’d
perhaps dangle
in time just long
enough for the
first pair (re-
member when
we were a quar-
tet?) to get tang-
led up a bit in 
someone’s stage
costume (some-
thing not a boa,
please, but boa-
esque, at least), 
lose his and his 
balances so that 
him and himd
have to reach out
in simultaneity, in
which case they
accidentally nab
a hand-sized chunk
(intact, but very 
clearly performed
as a duet) of Sherry.
Ah, remember why
we call him that?
It’s because he 
does so love 
to be shared, 
of course; but 
also because he 
never fails to 
overtipple on 
the actual
drink; no less
than, what,
once a month
wouldn’t you least?
(I would never
go so far as to
call it that, I
surely needn’t
add.  As we both 
recognize with 
strict clarity
that it’s just a 
wee drinkie, if
at all.  Unless
it passes through
those permanently
pursed lips; what
a dreadful show!).  
Anyhow, directly after 
Sherry has broken
free into So&So
and So&So’s 
palms, one of 
the S’s—or bet-
ter yet all three—
will proceed to ev-
er so accident-
ally imbibe a 
very large por-
tion of the rib-
bon or non-boa.
I say they each
ingest something
akin to the size of, 
say, Lucifer writhing
through an apple
tree.  Oh, shh!!
Quiet for just a 
moment. Listen.
You can hear all
three of them
pacing the hall-
way just outside
the door, as if
each has some-
thing very imp-
ortant to say.
And soon. Oh,
but do keep
the firmest 
of grips on 
this plan-to-
(or vice versa).
It’ll be the 
biggest spec-
tacle in town
for months.
At least until
tomato season,
wouldnt you say?
Oh, I do make
myself giggle
quite uncon-
trollably. Now 
don’t look at
me askew like
you don’t know
very well that 
mean, at the
very least, never
quite so…purpose-
fully.  The fun-
ny part about 
a planet I
used to never
find myself stand-
ing upon, much less
understand.  I mean
even conceptually.
Those were the days, 
I’ll warrant you.  But
what?  Oh.  The funny
part about vengeance 
is always who gets to 
barf on whom.  And
I’m here to tell you,
it is really quite addict-
ive, don’t you think?

Thursday, April 04, 2019


Hot Carrion Carrying On

The proctor
may have 
decided some time ago

that there
should by all
means be a long ______

at the end
of the third
to the last line.  The scoop goes

(and I can
just hear the
barn-bait attempt to correct with “the

skinny” or 
that he knew all along, the old coot.

He was a lot
of other things
of course.  Besides 'coot'.  But he must 

have been a
hundred or so
years of age by the time of its writing.  I, 

however, find the
scene entirely 
antagonizing in the hilarious sexual sense.  

written while
laughing aloud, I suspect.  In the sort of sense 

that might 
come into 
play if, let's say for a moment, that the etched

barricade of 
rubble might 
be sort of reminiscent of a morning when he and

a lover were 
quite aimlessly around on a bit of a fog-ridden m

orning, amid 
the mostly 
illegible tombstones in a Boston cemetery, and,

to boot, they
were both 
crepuscularly horny.  Or I'd change that to just

one of them.  
This would 
provide the perfect sort of series, if you will, of endless 

geriatric jokes  
gone horribly 
wry.  "Yeah, them's the breaks," he'd sort of

mumble, aim- 
ing most of one
arm at a bit of a discolored (newish) grave in the mid-

distance.  It'd be
the perfect meta-
phor of the perfect sardine factory penned by an 

auteur on his 
final escapade.
All of which goes completely unfathomed, most

by the keen
centenarian himself, as he and the lover choke

and giggle
on their
on their own spittle and salty spring tears (now

it's the both
of them, I
suppose, and they'd be tears of contagion, of

course, it being
spring and all), 
as well a veritable plethora of additional and

but perfectly
normal metallic tasting bodily fluids; all while

the wonderfully
misguided meta-
phor resonates (somewhere in metaphor heaven)

while the
two lovers
come to their senses just in time for

tury mid-Spring early afternoon.

Wednesday, April 03, 2019


Break out the Soul-Searching —
Holidays Are Thought-Fests

Idn’t it funny
How we all
Seem to climb
Our way, each,
Out of our mor-

Onic trances.  
What a ludic-
Rous species
Indeed.  If for
No other rea-

Son than to 
Relieve our-
Selves just in
Time for our
Deaths. There

Are studies
On this, pro-
Bobably so

Failed to
It occurs
To me 

Should be
The perfect
Name for this
Climbing out of.
The angel at the

Top of the Xmas
Tree.  (Oh and
I love the X
of Xmas.  It
Reminds me

Of Jesus and
His cross and
Me and mine.
Sure, there are
Idiots out there

Who think the
X completely
Eradicates the
Holiday alto-
Gether. I 

Mean sheesh!
What it truly 
Gives us all 
Well, me & 
Jesus anyway 

Is something 
To mull over.
And I ask you,
Frankly, when’s
A regular occas-

Ion to party NOT
Something to 
Really think 
Hard on. It’s

Oh, and here’s
Another line.
Idn't it all 
Just another

Bring-together time 
To wax sardonic
And such.  Over
Every miserable
Line and such.

(I don't suppose
Miserable is a 
Mandatory, but
Don’t fail to 
ponder that

People do tend
To drink. A lot.
When’s the
Next one,
You guys?

Let’s just 
Get it start-
Ed early for
Pete’s sake.
Oh....   And

About that 
Pete fella....

Tuesday, April 02, 2019


O neat-o friend of mine

        Small white chicken friends
          —John Ashbery (this epigraph, as well as the title 
             of this poem, are from The Undefinable Journey)

“So?  Didja get it?”

Apparently the same
concerns we have are

duplicated on the exact
other side of the planet.

Now’s a great time for
the exact other side of

the planet to be coy.
Doncha think?  Well,

I do.  I wanted just
a quick one, but one

that nonetheless
spoke to somebody,

even if he or she
or they, I suppose

we can say now, are on
this side of the planet;

maybe even next door?
I’m on a deadline (job-

searching).  Ditto and
Ditto may have just 

landed one.  Even though
it seems like I’ve taken

to simply speaking in
code, that isn’t precisely

the case.  It’s my head.
Just trying to get some-

thing out.  Probably
just about anything.

Hi.  I’m at my new desk
(thanks, Diane!) in my

new room (about which
there’s not enough time

to go into any “thanks”).
Needless to say I’m alive

as I write this.  But is it
really needless to say?

There are a few things
in this world that are

easy to do quickly.  I’m
speaking for myself and

in a general sense.  Like
the good general who 

may or may not have a 
job now, about which I

therefore may or may
not be celebrating.  This

all seems, on the surface,
fairly needless to say.  But,

lookee here. I went and said
all of it.  Every single bit.

Monday, March 25, 2019


It’s hard to say
with words

what someone
else says so

so easily:

my hero.

RIP William Corbett

Saturday, March 23, 2019


They put 
me on top 
of the hot
dog cart,
which I
is a sign
of con-

Friday, March 22, 2019


I am older
than you are.
But I’m not 
dead yet.  It
took nearly 3
years of burn-
ing to face
this.  To “say”
it.  Who cares,
right?  So, when
you sing your
song about old
men, no matter
the look on your
face, I’ll think
‘glorious!’  I’ll
think that it
must be true—
my every dream!
Well, not all of
them.  As for
my additional
dreams, tonight
the moon weeps
for each of them.
They will each 
take time.  And
a little bit of 
death, shall we
say?  Yes, death.
But what’s a 
little death for
but to enthrall,
invigorate, in-
vite introspec-
tion.  The pun’s
on me, and why
not?  I’m not a-
fraid of myself.
Nor what I’ll 
find.  Some may
say that’s a bit
naïve.  But not
me.  I have plenty
left of my sleeves,
clumsy as I may
be at finding I’ve
lost nearly half
of what I was
carrying up in
there some days.
Goodnight, you
gloriously sad
weeping ball
of cheese.  I’ll
see you tomorrow
night.  And that's
something you
can count on
for certain.