AARDVARK                                                        (94)

       I AM


       TO BE FIRST

       IN THE

   ABATTOIR                                                  (92)


             Oh, Summer night!  Night without war,             92

             Night without the supremacy of white

             Snow, don’t you know we all love peace?

         Iris seed on full lawn                                94

         The silos swim into solstice clouded

         Tubers of dark.  Bearded grackles

         Heavy the metal weeds  come, feet,

         Dance the empty

             Sister Q.Z. (THAT’S ME!)                          92

             Had a man who couldn’t please me,

             Didn’t even try to tease me,

             Needing, as I do, a spank and a whack

             When I scratch his brother’s back

         Hand above eyes,                                      94

         Squinting, I search the ecliptic

         For words in precession, wobbling

         Along the Van Allan Belts

         Like a toboggan ride down the dark dandruff

         Of a permanent wave (the kind you go back to get redone)


AERIAL                                                          (94)

       FLIES FLY


       OKAY, JUST

             Statisticate to be unlike meaninglessness         92

           The young complexity                                93

           That never was me

           Jams my strawberry


           Until Winter Pops In For a Visit                    94

           He Reads

           A Postcard From Iraq for Christmas

           The people snub us

           But to surrender.  Send toothpaste.

           Met many terrible, smelly men  barracks crowded.

           Great to be on shore patrol, off the ship.

           It was a long four months at sea.

           I may be home after a second wave

           Of blood soaks the sand.  Baby’s due

           In July.  No contraceptives or abortions

           Available.  It won’t have your eyes.

                                    Your loving wife,



AILERON TAKES A VOWEL MOVEMENT,                                 (94)

         Small blue thesaurus                                  94

         Sits dioxidizing

         Dinosaur creations,

         Penned plumage

         Of toothless tripescented

         Feline, pharaohfollowing,

         Ankhishly holding sparrows

         Like Teflon pterodactyls

             Mr. Potatohead in the drawer                      92

             Growing eyes in the dark

             Waits for the dust to settle

             So he can see some place

             To root, suspended and stabbed

         Birds like                                            94


         In birds

         Fallen flightless

         sHIT in THE BUCKet                                    94


               Garbage glistened in the round receptacle       91

               Frost glazed the morning meadow

               Flies made babies, not knowing

               The trash men come at noon.

         You drive your car                                    94


         But not without

         A seat belt

             Centered, the silly line soothes and sates.       91

                         We went for a walk.

           Ancient grave site                                   93

           Angel orange

           Granite lilies

           Any old sky

               My life is apropos                             91

               And every day is wonder

               I listen to the falling snow

               And thank God for my blindness

         I remember waking up                                  94

         With a bad poem in my headache

         Coughing up cupie dolls

         I write rhyme this very way                           94

         And don’t give my rhythm away.

         I’m published now.  I’m on my way

         And I’m a really real, real poet today

               If you come                                     91

               And be nice

               To your brother

               I’ll bake a cake.

         Hamhock, sirloin,                                    94

         Filet, shoulder,

         Butt and Chuck

         He separates his lovers

         Into parts

         If Superman, writing memoirs about his deeds          94

         While trolling for pickerel in the reeds

         Slipped and fell upon his big red initial

         And swam with supper, would his words be superfishal?

               I can not color in your eyes                    91

               The oil on that old canvas,

               Unfinished, dry, in cream

               Skincolor sits.  The studio,

               Empty, I study your thighs;

               I don’t think they’re right,


             That’s the way                                    92


             Delicate delights

             No noise in the kitchen

             Ingredients and temperature

             Just right, perfect texture

             On the cooling tray

             And someone with a sledge hammer

             Comes in to smash

             The table and counter

             The cookies and sink

               The grass is the cousin                         91

               Of my ass

               She is the motorized hum

               Of a lawnmower

               She is the growing


               She is the weedeater

               And sodlayer

               She is the trimmer

               Fingernails pulling at me

         The swan flew faster than ever                        94

         For fearfrozen fish,

         Dived and then


         Headfirst it glided through clear ice,

         Outside the Pyrex factory;

         A feather landed in the snow

         She thought New York                                  94

         Was a state

         Of mind

         Before the Phones Came                                94

         ….Sometimes we sat

         A train might pass…..

         Before the Trains Came

         ….sometimes we sat

         Before the Carpenters Came

         …sometimes we….

         You keep falling deeper                               94

         Into suicidal bliss,

         Imagining how pretty

         All the red will be

         Against this season’s fashions

             Famous people                                     92

             Pop into my


             So some fool reader

             Might hope to find

             Their secrets


             Or Prince Charles


           Past the travelogue                                 93

           Rome’s ruins

           Take more space

           In the guidebook

           Than on land

             Sleep poet sleep                                  92

             Your dreams are more true

             Your apathy

             Tells more about

             Your nature,

             The searching for sounds

             Degrades your sense,

             Your blanket more comforter

             Than an untangled phrase

CALDER                                                         (94)

CALIFORNIA                                                     (94)



       MOON UNIT?

     CALIFORNIA STATE                                         (91)


               A film on your eyes                            91

               Like cataracts

         Oh!                                                  94

         Freak me fucking out!

         A poem about a woman with grey eyes

         Reacting to that very same poem!

         How deep!

               Cribbage                                       91

               We peg for points

               Look for pairs and threesomes

               Doubleskunk when we can

               Play listless


           Birds                                              93

           How pretty they are

           Before the pellets hit them

         I see                                                94

         Icy crocuses

         The icy crow



         (And that’s a word too)

         I see!

             Poetry lives as long                             92

             As pen meets paper

             In any gutter or penthouse

             Where there is feeling to express

             Or thought to share

             But good poetry goes

             Where great poetry doesn’t dare

             And will until the penthouse pet

             Kisses the gutter dog with glee

             And calls the barking “great poetry”

         I sit with Superman, Margaret Sanger,                94

         Martin Luther King, Mother Theresa,

         Ghandi, and any other great name

         I can think of, pretending

         To hold their hands, in my attempt

         To hold your attention.

               Mention                                        91

               Sex and death:


               Poetry of imprisonment

               And plain appreciation

               Of life unspent

               Becomes premium

               Insurance bait

             Fancy cat claws                                  92

             The Blue Jay

             Feathers in its

             Frisky little


         The boy is eating breakfast                          94

         In a place to be called

         “The house of cracked eggs”

         Nobody is home                                       94


         Nobody is foreign


         I’ll bet I’ve had some boyfriends

         Who could make a foreigner out of you.

         Chicken Little                                       94

         Pops out

         When the sky falls

           Sign on door                                     93

           “Gone here”

           Explode into soy sauce                             93

           Oh, my porkfried soul

           Explode into bowel movement,

           Into vomit, to exorcise

           Those nasty sin balls

             A Poem Diver                                     92

             To anyone who’ll listen

             I mutter “Just what do you think?

             My big complaint with words

             Is that they have to suck to sink.”

         My leather briefcase spoke                         94


         My coffee cup spoke to me

         Saying everything, all at once

CLIMBING                                                       (94)

             Bootprints                                       92

             Up the



CLOCKWATCH                                                     (94)


       YUP, YUP, UP

         All I see is the ugly,                               94

         Pretending so hard to be pretty.

         I am pretty.  I am.

         From a seething pool                                 94

         Of industrial pollutants

         Grow pretty, little flower mutants

         Les Grands Mots a la Cote des Mots                   94

         Go ahead!

         Tell me you know

         More about war

         Because you went to a school

         That taught you French

             On Washington Square                             92

             Bug carpet leaves

             Sail on the wind

             Multiple visions

             Of a greybrown

             Day, insect eyes

             That don’t see

             “The Bottom Line”

             Oh, the oh poems                                 92

             That sit and sing

             Of fictional Egypt

             And don’t do a thing

           Certain times                                      93

           Newborn certain time

           In timeless now

           Times within the now

           Oh, yeah, and love moving universes

           Celestial music and

           “Calm” fucking “the storm”

         I will seal some strawberries                        94

         In the hubcap of my orneryness

         And throw them in the pamplemousse pudding,

         Like fate with a twist of lemon,

         For your mother to eat

             Carbohydrate cravings                            92

             Abridge an asphalt escape

             You are distracted by pizza smells

             On our drive to a glistening garden

CRAZYQUILT                                                     (94)

           Clown delight                                      93

         Alright, alright!                                    94

         Let’s save some trees

         I’m going to say                                     94

         Some really nice

         Sensitive things

         And then say,

         “Hey! Trust me.”

         Your fertilizer falls                                94

         Unto other people’s lawns

         Becoming                                             94

         Becomes you



         Am not yet

             Pruned to the Absolute                           92


         Nahnana poo poo                                    94

         My God is better than your God

         Give me a poetry I don’t understand,                 94

         A boy who walks like capital letters

         And runs like a semicolon.

         A golf and orgasm instruction video                  94

           Every asshole                                      93

           Has an edge

         Trying to PUMP!… this poem up,                     94

         Another oily feather falls

         Progress sucks, basically                            94

         Stasis sucks, basically

         And now the happy medium is the “radical center”

         So, basically, enjoy what you can.

         Hawk’s Flight                                        94

         Diving into the last line,

         Captured by a hunger for the beautiful

         Stuffed rabbit on display,

         Smashing against the plate glass,

         Falling into a pile of feathers,

         A couple of which I pick up for luck,

         Stick them into the defrost vent,

         Under my car window.

               Water Poems                                    91

               Next line

               Falls frozen

         Poxy “Proxies”                                       94

         Give up your virgin


         Or we will pull out our


               Your calamari living                           91

               Your scungilli life

               Your pasta vasule

               Your clam character

               Your fettuchini sex

               Your egg foo young legs

               And your mayo shark mentality


               Against those same damp

               Dining room walls

         Painters paint clouds                                94

         On billboards.  Poets

         Think then of rain

               Cats are immune to the hairy greens            91

               Of okra poetry

             Cabbage vacationers                              92

             And a long stairway

             Of mayonnaise, coleslawing


         Once,                                                94

         Was so soon ago


EXPEDITION                                                     (94)

             To the tennis courts                             92

             Daring the safari sun


EXPERIMENTAL BASEMENT                                          (94)

         ExPeRiMeNt WiTh WoRdS?                               94

         wOrD wOrLdS wOw!

         Bahloons                                            94

         Six pense


         The perky nymphettes

         Stir and snatch their Spring

         Drools, while I, boss, task it out,

         You play, you work, you get laid, you

         Collect cucumbers from the garden,

         You shear the weeds and Bobbits

         It is enough to be alive….                         94

         But then……

           Once,                                              93

           I read a history book

           And call telling you

           About it, poetry

         We are here                                          94


         You are there

         But I am here

         This is my picture painted

         With words for you to look at.

         Do you see it?  Do you feel it,

         At least? It, the mood  you know?

         There is something here…

         Well, not here.  I’m here.

             Grandma’s way                                  92

             We cut the end of the ham

             Because that was how she did it

             Not because we kept Grandma’s pan

             Which was too small for the whole ham

           Her breath was heavy like death                    93

           Smelled, as well.

         Well, there goes the farm.                           (94)

         Well, there goes the nation.

         Well, there it goes.

         Your big fucking words                               94

         That enfold mistaken meaning

         The detritus of premature ejaculation

             “Can’t come up with any new subjects             92

             ‘Cus I’ve written so fuckin’ B.Z. many poems”

           Door hinge blowing in the wind                     93

           Where a door was

           Before the bad poet, in a vandal mood

           Forgot to put it into the picture

           Of that impossible wind

          FlatEarth society

           Sees one sailboat

            In a regatta

             Drop off the edge,


               The fleet

                That is swallowed

                 By clouds

         Death’s a nextdoor                                  94


   GOING GAGA                                                 (92)

             Over ambiguity?                                  92

             I’ll never get over ambiguity

             Or underpants

             Would a gopher,                                  92

             If a gopher could

             Hide its home

             In a gopherwood?

             Always the myth of genetic studdom!              92

             CAN’T get away from stereotypes!

             (CerwinVega, Pioneer, Crown, Nacamitchi, Sansui)

             Upriver                                          92

             Float on sandpaper,


           My best friend keeps saying                        93

           She doesn’t want to live

           But means she wants to be spoiled

               I now write                                    91

               A perfect line

               A perfect line

         No one told them                                     94

         That July Seventh

         Would not be a Tuesday


         No one told them

         That the fairy

         Had a tail


         No one told them

         That no one told them

         Silence would have filled the space                  94

         The music came from

             Fat People                                       92

             Floating like ballerinas,

             On tiptoes, toward friendship

         In France,                                           94

         You demand

         An answer, in English,

         Say “There are no Frenchmen”

         When they just look at you.

         From a French brothel

         You stomp away

         When she refuses

         Your demand to

         “Show your tits in English”

         Who’s a Hecht?                                       94

         That’s okay

         Any memoriam of yours

         Is a memoriam of mine

         Your husband made such a fuss about your diary           94

         And you, of course, sent it to me

         I grow green, deprived of midnight                   94

         Milky skin with rainbow wings.

         The trucks scream cranberry, bounce

         Pebbles backwards.  Neon blurs my sodium

         Yellow lenses.  The wind pushes us

         Like a drunkard.  Leaves, paper, plastic slaps

         Against our faces.  A twenty dollar bill

         Gets stuck to your shoes.

         Money was never the problem.

         Poet                                                 94





             Up                                               92

             The light



             Of my history


             Up the light

             Public streets

             Of my hosiery

           The equator                                        93

           Ate her

         All the goods are mean                               94

         Heplophobes                                          94

         Try to outlaw

         My feminine mystique

         Cinderella, shoes                                    94

         In hand, ready to trade

             Random thoughts                                  92

             On a really lazy Sunday

           Had to get Limas                                   93

           Between someone’s knees

           Juxta                                             93



         He devoted his life                                  94


         Two thousand words maximum

             There were times                                 92

             When these lines

             Would not have been enough

             River runs                                       92

             Into hydroelectric puns

             Drowning versal valleys

         Walking along the shore                              94

         …….That’s all.

         Well, well, well                                     94

         The water’s no good anymore

         Sewer, sewer, sewer

             Going to war                                     92

             They gloat about glory

             Because a bluff is better

             Than a cliff edge

             Some days deserve                                92

             A good spanking

             I can not tell                                   92

             A truth

             I hid my axe

         Loneliness                                           94

         Is a dry marker

         And fear

         A broken ball


         Loneliness is

         Peat moss

         And fear

         A plate of beans


         Loneliness is….

             I have a message                                 92

             And it is,

             “I have a message”

         The rainbow hit the concrete                         94

         With a splat of fractured color

         And all that ever was was washed away

         In the warmth of summer rain

           It was any morning                                 93

           I woke up with….


         Three horses galloping free                          94

         Two had socks on

         One had me

         A Brief History                                      94

         Got `em

         Wore `em

         Ripped `em with my teeth

         (Used `em to polish my shoes)

             Pooperscooper                                   92

             Carried for fun

             Calling for a “Spot”

             That doesn’t exist

         They wrote bad poetry                                94

         Taking me completely by surprise

         Each fucking time

         I love you like a modem                              94

         Our love burns like a modem

         The orange and prune juice taste like a modem

         The sky and water are a modem

         The page sits like a modem

         The like phrase is like a modem

         Liking the like phrase is like liking a modem

         Like is like

         Is like

         Like is modem

         Like is to like as like is to modem is like a modem

         A modem is like a cherry

         The cartoon was like a cherry

         Wanting you was like wanting a cherry

         The shore line burns like a cherry

         The cherry pie burns like a teacup

         The cherry is like a burn

         One burn is just like the other

         In the fiction game

         I could go on

             Freestyle                                        92

             Swimmers, lean,


             Into the same lane

             Alright, now, who put the spinet in the garden?       92

         Rakes                                                94




         A leaf falls

             I mention                                        92


             To get you to read

             These lines

             How bored bored people get in boring company         92

             Is boring to me unless they say it well

             Or interestingly.

         If you need to, use a pickup truck                   94

         To move the poem

         Into the present

             I hear the skin of the Governor of Texas wrinkling    92

             I’m a saddlestapled                             92

             Matte card

             Cover girl

             Fuzzy but fun

         Concrete poetry                                    94

         Limestone, pebbles, sand

         Excited                                              94

         He says,

         “I went to this

         Wonderful, almost inaccessible


         Isn’t that great?!

         With my foreign accent

         I ascended the description”

             Consider the cat                                 92

             Run over

               Woman, buy your seeds in a Burpee Catalogue        91

               For all your fertile attempts to cultivate

               That belching, incontinent man

             Peggy’s peonies in warming bathwater             92

             The sky should not leak watercolors              92

           Who put the teapot on                             93

           The flowers?

           Oooooops!  Wrong New Renaissance                   93

         Wordjumble wasteland and not the good kind either

             He rubbed me with atomic balm                    92

             I blew up and hit the ceiling

         Yugo, Don’t Leave Those Highbeams On                 94

         Truckers don’t blink,

         Crossing the line

         Between “Good buddy”

         And “fourwheeler in the ditch”

         Snicker sneaker!                                     94

             Title Poetry                                     92

             Almost as bad as verse

             That isn’t explained

             Until the last line

         Night drops the drapes                               94

         Lights out

         Engines humming in the sky

         The shriek of falling secanols

               My ear calls                                 91

               Oh!  Ooooops  should

               Be a big name;

               Osiris, my ear,

               Calls my mouth

               To be silent

         He dances like a plop of mashed potatoes             94

         Sometimes does a twostep dollop of cranberry sauce or

         The turkeywithahandupit assist

         As inspired by (my mother’s breath) by the guy

         With the parakeet on his violin bow

         During the “Flight of the Bumble Bee”

         Poems are the “showems”                             94

         We write every day

         If we would have readers

         We wouldn’t spend all our fucking time writing

               Eggs on chair                                  91

               I sit

               Discover them

OYEZ                                                         (93)

           Oh, yes!                                           93

           Oh no!


           Oh, yes


             Mobius                                           92


             For his pleasure

         Tight voice                                          94


         Drippings of dew

         Off leaves


         Drenched in muted


               Naaaaannncy!                                   91

               How many times do I have to tell you

               You don’t have to leave open the bathroom door

               To swim through it?

             Pet                                              92




           16 tons                                            93

           And I filla

           My gut.


           Like a lepton flowerburst

               Fine, but                                      91

               Up what stream

               Can we hide


         Species: Poet                                         94

         His lines are arachnid

         Ararat on a rat’s ass

         Like antelopes loping

         Over a cliffedge

         If edited to the swansong

         Of an Anatidae

             I Put The Woman and The Fireplace Into The Title       92

             of a Poem, Felt Free, For Once, And Did Not Need To Go


         After Children’s Day

         I am stuffed turkey on token gifts

         Candycaned into a corner

         Eggnogged out of excitement

         Tinselled to the tonsils

         Mulled by makebelieve smiles

         Fruitcake filled

         Tied up to my neck

         In Christmas credit

               My, my, my                                      91

               There are seven syllables

               In the line above (here, too!)

             I’m uncertain about the expenditure               92

             Of all this time taken to make up

             Smooth and rhythmic internal rhyme without

             Enjambment, cliché, or sentiment,

             About all this time spent, words worked at hard

             To appear simply worked out, having, as I do,

             So little, of substance, to talk about

             And, feigning distress, no one to address.

             Oh me, oh my! It’s time now to say goodbye,

             But let me take this opportunity to end on a sour note

             And not the kind I make, sucking lemons.

         “Rock me like                                         94

         Hypocrisy!  Oh, yeah.”

         Bambi met the Xmen                                        94

         On a Bohemian Rhapsody

         With Garth in a bath

         Of mail to Wayne’s World

         When all of a Vanna

         Was spread out with staples

         To tempt Tony the Tiger

         Into meaningless Cher care

         Products for hair and skin

         And I’ve never met them

         And hope to forget them

         …..Or Other Titles, Heads Without Bodies                 94

         (But Not Without Tales)

           This poem has the quality of Sears aluminum siding      93

           Of colorsafe detergent for dangerous Spandex

           Hiding the hormone depletion

           We are licking the oilspot on the cement driveway

           Of the service area, touching the skin

           Of an orange

           That only reflects green

           Vibrations of the ozone

           In an awful uncola

           Reebok Relationship

               Rumors of the Ball                              91

               Bounce off of her

               Champagnestained gown.

               A drunken nose sniffs her cleavage

               During a short waltz

               Arms and shouts all around

               2 seconds to go.  1 point down

               And Akheem throws to Samson….

               Shit!  Missed alleyoop(s).

         Let’s go, you and I                                   94

         Like a yoyo and a dodo

         To the brink of our love

         Or maybe to the Stop and Go

           Dueling scars                                       93

           Are no longer

           In fashion

           Nor shorter


           (And new knitted flesh

           Doesn’t put up much

           Of a fight anyway)

               Had to Give This Title of “Poem”, So You’d Know


               Few words


               A column

         Last line                                             94

         Red herring

         This is about the first line of this

         Memory                                                94

         Casting a draft

         Raisins swallow me

         Dipping wet crackers in the Brie

         I’m a jacket that’s worn wrinkled

         The Lawrence Welk of halfberries

         Your ears bend to listen to Lee

         Clinging to fistsful of rocky road ice cream

         Widow’s walk tongue slides

         Walk tongue!

         Don’t get caught in the plosives

         Between                                               94


         Razor’s edge


             Potable Poetry                                    92

             By Wilbur in the woods by a stream

         Zapper bulldogs                                       94

         A mucuswet sky

         Won’t release the harvest moon

             After Line 2, I Give Up                           92

             Rhythmmaking soulshaking

             Phrases forming words conforming

             And then there’s this dragon

             Stuck in my tea cup

             (Which, by the way, is porcelain

             So you know I’m not merely some bohemian)

         Picture pick picture                                  94

         Mood mood mood move mood mood mood

         Theme in six syllables

             Contradiction                                     92

             Too wide to admit


             He’s an economysized


           Life                                                93

           Is a missed


         Puce Debussy                                          94

         Cyberspace waves

         Pusillanimous tones

         The terror of error

         New symbols to transpose into

         Art/artisan/work translations

         And the mother (La Mère) of all C: drives,

         Pookie, pecks at her puce computer;

         Pucilagenous cellulose keeps time until five

         She keeps typing away, drifting in an electron ocean

         Into the symphony of a creamgrey day

         TITLE                                               94


         The whole meaning

         Is in there

               They dump their waste on us                   91

               Saying, “you want the good life?”

               Hide maps of contaminated areas

               Like they hide their combination safes

               Inland revenue (for the children)

               Pay tax

               To play clean

               They dump their waste on us

               Saying, “The reason it smells funny, like that,

               Is because it’s art”

         Tomorrow, dreams begin                              94


         Today, dreams begin


         Yesterday, dreams began


         Yesterday, dreams had been beginning


         Daybeforeyesterday, dreams had begun

               Dr. Spock’s Little Monsters                   91

               Some, twisted, turn

               On the memorized road

               Of “for a nickle I will

               Blow up the toll gate.”

             Love is a poet unidentified                     92

             In the right setting

             Odds 7:5 (demographically)

           I would like to say                               93

           This poetry

           “Shimmers like a July rainbow”

           But this is not true

         Rowing into Summer darkness                         94

         In only briefs,

         He calls himself, “Poet”

             I put a flower on the bottom                    92

             Of these lines so that someone

             Will think they might be poetry


         Perhaps, it’s a ball game                           94

         The sun is out

         He scratches balls, rolls bat in fingers

         Skull skull skull skull skull                       94

         I think I’ll call this

         RiverRhythm Poetry

         (With analogous oars)

             Writing                                         92

             Lines in car

             Auto accident

         Automotive Mother Goose                             94

         Fairy tales for women

         And a few sensitive men

         (The rest of the sensitive men

         Can run home to mama

         Like the crybabies they are)

         Singing the greens                                  94

         Because 8 percent of males

         Are colorimpaired

             I’m almost used to not knowing where I’m going       92

             Since they bought that trailer and sawed off my tail

             I get the eerie feeling they’re going to make a show

             Of me. (At least give me a luxury ride to the glue


         Hubbybubby                                         94

         You’re a froggie!

         Happy anniversary

               Honey, let’s get rid of the python, okay?          91

             Lookingatapainting                          92




             Barney’s, New York                            92

             That’s where daddy

             Got his suits.

             So, what?

             So, they were good suits

         The Altar                                           94

         I found the title

         And expect you

         To do the rest

         Of the work of

         Knowing what

         This poem is

             Words For A Poet’s Funeral                      92

             “That elegy really sucked”

             The black dog of my guilt                       92

             Eats your white cat

             Nah, just kidding

         Wildlife Loving                                     94

         Scamper Camper

         I fire the woods

         To make sure

         The animals

         Are not dead

             I’m going to do it again.                       92

             Hope you get fooled this time:


         The poem without words                              94


         Everything I was going to say

         Amazing                                           94

         How the architect of your house


         That you are not butter

               The magic snowflake of art                    91

               Melts when the drummer

               Stops sweeping his jazzbrushes

               Across the roof

         Poetry Calm                                         94

         Moonwillow words lain out over the shadowy swan,

         Perfect pitches of serenity

         To avoid  ANY

         Fuckin asshole coming in and upsetting the fuckin balance



         Swan fluffs its wings into midnight silence

             Wow, man!                                       92

             Look!  See how skillful

             The birds are at flying, man?


           Hey, duck,                                        93


             Roses, Rues, and Ruses                          92

             Bouquet in arms in crinkly paper

             We wind our way down French boulevards

             With names like Sacre CWWWWWWHIC!

             ………… Cwwwwwwwwwwwhic! ….

             CWWWWWWWHHHIC!!!! (Sorry  hairballs)

         When is poetry ever like this                     94

         As dull and as commonplace

         As zaz?

           You have to admit                                 93

           Everyone is crazy,

           Completely insane,

           Hopelessly lost in the ozone,

           So, let’s fuck, huh?

             Beach in Soggy Sand at Low Tide                 92

             When I want you to focus on that solitary footprint

             I have to compromise and stain it with mint

             That man with blond hair                        92

             Bought a sport’s car

             With my money and ran,

             Was riding in the rain

             With his new girl, Jane,

             Cruising along, under

             A railroad crossing.

             In the glare of night

             He didn’t see quite right

             Didn’t notice the underpass

             Was overfilled

             With three feet of water

             I guess that taught him,

             Maybe even taught her.

             The car came bubbling

             To its eternal rest.

             She hit her head.

             (I liked that best)

             Now, you see?

             That was poetry.

             Man,                                            92

             This ain’t right, man.

             I don’t want no fuckin’

             Hang gliders

             Scaring my fuckin’ birds

               Hey, Norma, dear,                             91

               I see you there,

               Sitting on your ample


               When I see the pear,                          91

               Passed over the counter,

               I see…..

               Ah, shit, I can’t lie

               I see a pear passed over the counter

           I need an image, a new image                      93

           I need imagery, NOW,

           Or I’ll go all prosey

           Uh, uh

           Petunia in a pancake

           Uh, uh

           Six galloping julien fries

           Uh, uh

           The moon, sandwiched between lettuce and bacon

           Uh, uh

           Ice cream dripping onto my sweating cleavage,

           Strawberry bosom, scooped by tender tendrils of butterfly


           Oh! ….

           Uh, nevermind.

           Maybe all I needed was lunch

       Iguana on a pile of planks                            94



       It’s just a shadow

         I really don’t need to read the poem              94

         Fuck, I saw the movie

             The Mountains See It Before We Do               92

             But we keep the day

             And feed it celery.

         Donna, making crooked tracks,                       94

         Trudging through the deep snow

         And wilderness of her mind’s exile

         And the twisted path it takes,

         Steal heat from the heart.

         Then she wakes, startled,

         Dumping halfgallons of icecream

         In buckets, to the freezer floor

         Of the grocery store

         Semantic confusion.

         Having left it to cool off

         In the walkin refrigerator,

         It was not an exile but an exaisle

               “When Insanity Comes Knocking,                91

               Throw Away the Door” by D.C. Berry

               Was Such a Good Title, I Decided

               To Use It In My Title Too

               Doesn’t much matter

               What comes after

               A title like that

         Shut (those damn noisy                              94

         Birds) Up!

             We publish bad poets from                       92

             All around the world

         She put an elephant in his coffee                   94

         Donuts on the side

         Called it “madlib” poetry

         And left by the window

             Brace yourself!                                 92

             Here’s an image

             My cousin’s braces.


           Nothing delicate                                  93

           About the


           In my couch

         Joy                                                 94

         Is a timerelease capsule

         And grief is a bad cold

         No!  Wait!

         Grief is a timerelease capsule

         And joy is a bad cold

         Beware of 1st and Main!                             94

         That’s where I saw a vision

         Which inspired another poem (not this one)

         Poetry Titles                                       94

         “1989, A Pivot Year”

         “1990, A Pivot Year”

         “1991, A Pivot Year”

         “1992, A Pivot Year”

         “1993, A Pivot Year”

         “1994, A Pivot Year”

         Interplanetary Geophysicist Poetry                  94

         Plural/ singular


         Mars the reading

         Of lines about mines

         And yourses

             I saw a heron                                   92

             Spread its wings

             Over the entire horizon

             But now loons are in vogue

             Spreading wings across the cover

             In the very latest fashions

             Cutting Wind                                    92

             Razor, razor

             Raise her ardor

             Razor, razor

             Raise the wind

             Razor, razor

             Got to get

             A razor in

               Squishy earth                                 91

               Eats my wheels

               In selfdefense

             Never forget……                              92


             ….. I forgot what.

             Everything                                      92

             Becomes you

             Except the white dress

             (I want it)

           Watching the words                                93

           I am aware

           That the line





           Is also the line between




           But not just those

           It is also the line between
















             Poems are acts of acts                          92

             So fax me

             Axe simile

             So I can cut down

             Your poet


         The poem neighed in the saddle of lines             94

         Ellipsis was the horse’s name

         Cantering over a field

         Of barley in the wind….


         Maybe it was a field of rye

         3 lines forsaken                                    94

         For the “good idea”

         Of the following 6 lines

         (Which I won’t include here)

         Clearer Than                                        94

         The moon roamed even these landscapes

         Of flying haystacks

         And the pond’s hot buttresses, thunder colors,

         Mysterious wind of scummed peonies,

         And magenta poplars.

         Bleeding blossoms bloomed

         Like there were clouds

         And won’t stop

           It is October                                     93

           Everything is

           Cool, smells of wholes,

           Concrete blisters,

           Ice to fill them


           (And then, of course, it’s going to twist and turn them,

           make them swell out of shape and break through their

           boundaries and have holey babies so that soon there’ll be

           more holes to fill and then leaves will leave, it will

           leave and be a different season)

         Even the toilet’s scrubbed and foreign.

         Someone made the water blue

         Domino effect with falling towels

         In Lightning colors of hauberked nakedness

         Like stiff cotten

         And there were flying mistresses of furballs

         Against the wall by the spiget

           There once was a man who said nothing

           And he was not there

           As a shadow

           But painted dots

           Where his shadow should have been

             The monster den                                 92

             With monster men

             We keep putting them down

             They get up again

             You saw bearded Blake                           92

             In airborne paradise pedantry

             I saw a vision of Dryden

             No, He wasn’t hibernating

             He just didn’t want to be forced

             To smell the unwaxed fur

             Of soggy bears

               Pyromaniac Poetry


               Never realized

               How brightly

               Your lines would shine


               I heard them crackle

               And saw them


               In my midnight


           Today                                             93

           Is a blank day

           Blank blank blank

           Blank blank

           Blank blank

         OBEY!                                               94

         Nibbles that tremble


         Friends and loved ones


         Toast me

         Tea me

         Cup me in your calloused heartstrings

         In C# Minor

             After Any Particular Thing                      92

             Future family tree

             Fucking without aim

             Or aiming

             Toward a future with

              Oh, my Gosh!  Imagine that!

              A future with things I never

             Thought about imagining!

             On other worlds, to boot!