Tuesday, August 28, 2018


The Tall Green Circle to Heaven

stands on its hind legs for height;
no matter, ill-fated.  Never thirsty
for the infinite blue that is always
slurping away at its tendrils, which

the big green circle warms
with its cusps, never knowing
the red of the fire it creates,
nor too high on itself to really even

pay attention to the loudest shades
of lipstick floating beneath and
among and around the tall circle's
lowest green limbs, which — big gasp,

effortless words — are red as the backsides
of some of the shinier animals that
roll gleefully down the
short hill all day long.  The lips-

ticks floating in and among the
darkening green of the dusk, the
shushing in and the shushing out
like sounds the skins of wings make.

Funny how they, the shushing sounds
makers, never fly or even float above
the infinitely blue drug this sometimes
the mid-afternoon sky, or the sky of the

early morning or sometimes the sky at the
stroke of midnight, never float above the
still blue, beneath or around the tall green
circle standing on its hind feet (for height),

never float out of the still blue water, these
(red?) shushing wings, the water that is and
was the bay, is and was filled with the shiniest
animals which never fly up and over or float

across.  The wonder.  The tall tree in the middle
of the tall green circle that envelops the tall tree
and all of the green and the short hill from which
the tree rises and down which the shiny animals

roll gleefully; the green tree, up which now the
bay seems to climb, is climbing, so that the blue
water (infinitely blue) is not simply beneath or
around or among the loveliest limbs of the tree,

but rises further still up to the net sack at the
beautiful green tree's longer arms, all hidden
from most of the universe (perhaps?) by the
tall circle (green) that stands on its hind feet

frantically looking for heaven.  The
circle, the entire body of the tree
standing on its hind legs (which can
feel the coolness of the water as it

rises, rises), gasping.  Gasping
THESE ARE RED!! the feet of the
tree to which the snout of the tree
now points deliberately, frenetically,

until finally, and ever so slowly,
the tree begins to be mellifluously
sucked up above — into the next circle;
this, the endless cycle of the heavenless tree.

Sunday, August 26, 2018


Kevin Tighe
walks into
a bar and
belts out a
very loud and
gargled:  E-

& just as
jumps out
of their
seats and
are on their
various ways
to the aisles

(the most pop-
ular route being
bottoms of legs
barely skimming
the tops of vac-
ated seats),

he, Kevin Tighe,
turns his head
toward the pro-
jector and stares
up into it (at me)
and says:

You can thank
me for that one.

Thursday, August 23, 2018


Jewel Lee vs. Jujube

Jack & Jill
vs. The Hill
were at the
Jewel Bee
Which is
just a jest,
a silly way
to say any-
thing be-
sides today;
anything ex-
cept last
night + the
night be-
fore last
+ the deep
and bitter
end of the
day before
A joule is a
unit of el-
erial and
skinny, it
is but one
to broach
an identity,
like that of
you or that
of me. Un-
like the last
48 hours
of hard-on
a turmoil
I’ve taken
as metric-
al, or at
least of a
broken down
metric, a unit
of music or 
property re-
in this trom-
bonified case,
a freakin' lout
of a day (which
I call a flaut)
and fairly ab-
normal (not!), 
(it is not) even
a quarter of an
inch magical, the
lip of which is not 
one iota madrigal
(& on that note, here
is a side-fantasy: When
shouldn’t there be
a day when the
Mrs. Latter of which
stands at the ready,
right here on Barbary
Lane? Oh, how I do
so very much wish
that she were around
today, like always,
just to say hello
through all of this
haywire! This un-
plain Olympia, never
intended to be climbed
like a San Francisco hill
but lovingly embraced
into, engulfed, in a
floaty way like 
How Sweet Is
My Valley (a con-
fusion of a story
about the state
of Tennessee and the
flick by John Ford),
and, yes, even like
the rich and mellifluent 
voice of Tennessee
Ernie Ford 
rather NOT like
(speaking of dells)
the Dukakis that 
was neither Duke
nor President but 
an also ran (aka,
a Greek with no 
Jimmy). All in all
(you do the math).
It’s a for-real 
day approaching — but 
never equaling — the
entire previous year
of them.  Befitting to a T,
right, this year preceded by
entire previous years, which
were, each, in their own little
ways:  I, M & E.  Yep.
T + I + M + E =
everything (again,
you do the math).  
And did you know,
well, of course you
did, that individually, 
we’re each + all
~80% H20.  And as united
as we may stand, we are
never (please do under-
stand), no, not ever
undivided.  No matter
our individual stance.
In fact, me being me
(that’s me=me; and this
is, please, just between
you and me) is something
like the factoid that broke
the camel’s back (and
was found the very next day
in a haystack) — a fact
which could be a pair (or
so) of facts, could be just
a little too much (like M+E at 
times, IMHO).  But, really,
everything being me,
which = LIFE, or one
that has for a time
existed, is some-
thing that I have
rarely known and yet
seem to persist right
through it. But more
to my point, I think: 
charity persists, cherries
are picked (and are full of
the pits) and chastity;
well, it’s a bust. 
Isn’t this all no-
thing but my inevitable
attempt at jubilance,
after all?  Even here,
stuck at the very bottom
of it, I heave out a Hooray!; 
sally (to rush out or leap forth
suddenly) out of a bunch of
muck; stick up my thumb (and
not my bum!) and sally
(to issue suddenly from
a defensive or besieged
position to attack an enemy):
a hefty Yippee for Meeee!;
and set out on a trip or
excursion (which also =
our good friend sally) 
in the general direction
of tomorrow!  Yip Pee!