mmmmcxlvi

Off the Grid

They say he just fell off the map.
But laughing? Something like that.
He had an orange for breakfast and
that was the last we saw of him. An

orange? That’s all? Are you certain it
wasn’t an onion? But he was a good fell
ow. Many say. It became apparent over
the years, after his disappearance, that

there were some conflicts. Just generic
scuttlebutt. He had a soul? He was decent?
Conflict had transpired. That’s the brunt of it.
Was this the root of his demise? I felt joy when

he was present. Inspired. But to speak of demise
hints at someone worth remembering; of renown.

mmmmcxlv

Scribble Me Out If You Will

                                for memory

The past. No, the present. The
past and the present. The invented
future? Maybe. My weblog. My
maplogs. My logs. All the logs

not meant for a fireplace. Although,
nothing about splitting logs. There’s
death in that. What’s to unscribble?
Perhaps more, perhaps much more;

this part is to be determined. All
the films I’ve experienced. Teevee
shows included. Every book I’ve ever
read. All acquaintances whom if en

countered today who’d stop to gab, and
wish me well in earnest, alive or dead.

mmmmcxliv

Surprises in Hell

It’s important to keep one’s humor about one
self when in hell. As is the case anyplace, there
are things that can tickle the senses into a laugh,
or a reminiscent chuckle or at least a glimmer of an

overheated smile, even in such a despicable place as
this. While it’s true, of course, that the devil himself is
no fan of seeing his ‘acolytes’ reveal anything the least
bit positive, be it a smile, a laugh, a chuckle, or tip of the

proverbial hat. Ooh, and he hates to witness the act of a
good deed by anyone in this godforsaken place. But humor
still exists, even here, even when the news is bad, when your
‘friends’ spit nails at your skull, and when the chore list is so pain

ful it literally cannot be tolerated. But worst of all is when an old pal
suddenly appears and looks right through you like you never existed.

mmmmcxliii

Sitting Down for a Discussion

It sadly could be our last. But I could live
with that. This would be preferable to not
even bothering. Sure the unwillingness is
not only astonishing, but something incred

ibly tough to get over. A tragedy. A heart
break. Something, yet, with which I have
no option but to deal. To move forward. At
least it is closure. This mysterious subject has

to end, right? Who cares about this matter? Me.
That’s pretty much it. Surely not the other party.
Party. Which we did so much of, in the inebriated
sense. In just the celebratory sense. So much was

shared. And sure, it’s been years. But to say that I
would have never dreamed it would go off like this . . . .

mmmmcxlii

Television

I should watch more teevee.
When I do I’m transported.
Sometimes there’s too much
suspense, but even this isn’t

reality. Sometimes there’s
such joy, there’s such per
fection that I find myself with
tears rolling down my cheeks.

These are not tears of sadness.
They are of joy, of catharsis. This
frisson is so rejuvenating that of
course I should do this more often,

delve into the unreal, the beauty
that is nowhere but in this figment.

mmmmcxli

How Exactly Did I Get Here?

Love is illogical, love is blind,
it’s the dumbest thing imagin
able sometimes. Most times?
I haven’t normally thought this

way, but contemplating my sev
eral encounters with the grab
you and have at you one-track. . . .
It’s not always that. Is it always

that? Love can bring all else to
a standstill. Love can be such a
myth. Oh, you believe. And that
it is reciprocated. Ha. But when

it comes to love, the cynicism lasts
only so long until you’re ready again.

mmmmcxlvii

Come Away from the Ledge

Perhaps tonight it’s impossible
not to dwell on the tiny lip of
the city below.  I seek a glimmer
or three.  I’m closer to heaven

up here?  Moving from subjects
not to take lightly to those that
are light: I’m alive?  Oh, this
might take a while.  I have such

a cache of photos from my past.
Perhaps I’ve been more nostalgic
than I thought I was.  This project.
Or, for example, I generally enjoy

randomly scanning these photographs.
When will this be the case once more?

mmmmcxxxix

Sonnets

Sonnets can be succinct, can tell
or at least intimate an often pro
found story. But what if one did
not? Recently I’ve been hit by a

bit of a triple whammy, what I’ve
been wanting to be by the beginning
of the year that comes next will not
be who I am. Quite contrary, it would

seem. Furthermore, some of my best
memories have been rewritten, thanks
to one of the whammies. Needless to
say, I’m depressed, and without explain

ing much (where’s the story?) I’ve no
means at all to improve the situation.

mmmmcxl

I Just Can’t

When you’re hit by something
so confusing it is hystorical.

There are just no words at first. 

And maybe, you give some sort of 

dumbfounded response to the hypocrisy.

but then you realize it’s one lousy human’s 

way to escape reality. Time happens like 

a prayer filled with all of the things you 

should have said. Spare dwelling on the 

tale’s details. Make it a lesson, instead.  Del

egitimize the history you thought was. 

Stride, chin up; deal. Reality is. Feckless 

humans drop you, disavow even the notion 

of loyalty, dissolving your fondest memories.

mmmmcxxxviii

Where’s Yaddo?
(Some Pomp & Circumstance)

“An anxiety-inducing dilemma, in
deed! What has become of you?”
Now we have internal dialogue –
sweet mother of – I have voices

in my head!? It’s late on a Saturday.
I’m riffling through Indeed (dot com).
For at least a minute. But then what
happens?? Well, this happens. Yep,

this act that’s just sooo important.
Has. Become. My. Procrastination?
Uh uh! It took me 40 years to call my
self Artist, Writer. But penniless coming

full circle was definitely not the plan.
Plus, it’s Saturday night! So screw it!

mmmmcxxxvii

Panda Mick’s Post

POV of the trio of
waddle-cuddles all
tucked b&w into a
box of peanuts –

peanut shells to be
all ecological. Damp
noses pressed on each
other as they uncomfor

tably spoon and swoon
over a vast, unseen
ocean, sniffing each
other’s eucalypt souls

wondering about China’s
economic/political future.

mmmmcxxxvi

Kink Tut

Wrap me up in
your funniest
undies like
a mummy.

Amenhotep
heaven!

This, I decree,
must surely be
the most direct
way to heaven.

King Noah Tut-tut

mmmmcxxxv

A Sonnet Catches a 

Glimpse of Its Reflection

Am I the mess that you
want me to be? And is
this [demonstrating its
architecture to its reflect

ion]? That mimicry is
flattery has this (and
all) sonnets expertly
puffing their chests –

proudly AND sexily.
Love can be seedy
and filled with growing
trees. Thinks the poem,

on its knees, all ego:
“abab cdcd efef gg.”

mmmmcxxxiv

Here’s My Lack
of Imagination

To write
about
being
broke

is to
have
a lack of
imagination.

mmmmcxxxiii

You Animal!

A carafe of
giraffe sounds
enticing (don’t
laugh).  Or a

sordid duet
with a puma,
under a crescent
moon.  I’d rhumba

with a rhino on
the beaches of
the Rhine.  But,
all said, I’d rath

er with you pounce
away all my time.

mmmmcxxxii

Ornery with an H

Scooch it
into the
spotlight.
Resist the

pose.  Al
ways act.
Action is
perfection.

Slap the
scandals
senseless.
Since when

was skin such
soulful bliss?

mmmmcxxxi

Flipped from the Headlines

Who can bear it?
Somebody’s asking
for it.  Where’s the
money?  Ask the suits

in bored rooms.  Which
channel to watch today?
It’s War vs. Soap.  Beauty
products clean the blood.

Down the drain go our 

hearts.  Just the facts.  The 

WMDs are buried under NYC. 

Next up: Guns for Mugging

Judges.  Make mine soapy.
Pray my brains don’t clog.

mmmmcxxx

Riddle

Man arrives.
Reason’s virtue.
I’m nobody.

mmmmcxxix

Northeast

Pout.
Pelt.
Pinch.
Press.

Smirk.
Twerk.
Work.
Perk.

Appear.
Disappear.
Smear.
Sneer.

I saw you a’comin’ when
the news turnt me out.

(The Far Right)

mmmmcxxviii

Pastel Gardens

To prune.
To bear.
To slough.
To spoon.

To wake.
To ache.
To bake.
To slake.

To smack.
To make.
To pack.
To take.

To stop too slow.  To boom.
To glow.  (To bloom and go.)