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 #93

She wanted so bad to be edgy,

To square her rounded mould:

Adidas for Joules, vaping for baking,”

Was a mantra she to herself told.

Each day in her cap a new feather

(She donned a fresh peak from Ellesse):

MD, EDM, and avid Corbynism

Were the limes from which she squeezed zest.

But one balmy afternoon whilst reading–

That Postmodern bulwark, Infinite Jest

Her eyelids drooped, her head soon followed,

Until her chin found respite on her breast.

She awoke– oh horror!– to a shapely

Metamorphosis, a most peculiar bodily lesion!

Where once limbs and curves, now

Twelve vertices: enough for a dodecahedron.