Poem #100



An–, GREEK: without.

–Orexis, GREEK: appetite.

It’s true enough.

I lost my hunger for just about everything:

Love, fun, people.

I hungered only for hunger,

And hunger meant control.


I probably would have dragged

My unfed muscles

Across a mile of

Shattered Willow pattern crockery,

Just to hit a calorie deficit.


And what do we see,

Depicted in said fragments?

A father’s consternation, blue.

A sister’s muted concern, white.

Friends smashed, morals smashed,

My feet blooded, a celery heart in each hand.




Writing on the topic proves challenging.

Not emotionally– I’m a certified sharer–

But pragmatically.


My brain’s changed;

I find it hard now to pull on that old suit–

It’s a tight fit.



Poem #99

Oh, tell us!

Won’t you tell us?


The master-poet smiled.

The smile meant no.


He adjourned to the coast to die.

From a clifftop verandah he peered down

At the swash, hoping for a glimpse of Venus,

Birthing on the waves.

He didn’t see her,

And so he lay down to die.


Crowds bubbled to hear The Simile:

Students, professors, aficionados,

Past lovers, fellow poets,

Those who knew the master-poet

As a sardonic cad.




I’m like the tooth fairy,

In that I’m secretly your Dad.

Poem #98

Well-rounded as a flat-earther,

Or washed up like a fat surfer,

From your first word

‘Til your last gurgle

You’ve gotta cat-burgle:

Get to the top of the story,

Look down,

Don’t grind just to stay on the ground,

Stuck in the mud,


Waiting on fate or St. Caj

To come free you:

Hope’s an imperfect shelter,

Like ozone–

So find your own suit

Like Frozone,

Be content on your lonesome;

Got ideas? Float ’em,

And broker inner tokens

In return for a totem.

Poem #97



I know the universe works mentally…

I know everything.


Later still,

He came upon a revelation.

We all see it differently.

A summer’s breeze

Is nothing is

One soprano in an Aeolian choir is

God’s breath is

A brotherly flux in air pressure is

Feeling balmy on the skin after

All day sending emails.

More though,

The mind is as malleable as code:

You can edit, you can edit, you can edit.

Poem #95



As a child, God made him a solemn promise:

Life would be good.

Not in so many words,

But in overstuffed stockings and doting grandparents;

In Milka after school and waterslides in France;

In a vat of cascading Lego bricks

And a familiar hand to flick the bedside lamp;

In imagination– yes, imagination most of all.

Poem #94

The sun did not rise today-


He pounced unannounced,

Shouldering his jealousy

Into the unguarded Earth.

He’d seen, you see,

How she seldom shied

From the lips of the breeze;

He’d noted too

The chiselled moon,

And how he’d come early,

Adorning the blue.

So as long as he might,

He kept his lover in sight,

Stifling her surface

With a cloying love bright.

Her grass he yellowed,

And my skin pinks,

Blushing until, reluctant,

He sinks.