What incredible
Passion or
Disregard for
Humanity it
Must require
To *******
In public;
Either is
Truly admirable
Yet rarely
Appreciated

I have nothing
in particular
to write
yet,
feel the need
to let my fingers
run over the keys,
pretend I am C.B.
and press a few
until something
starts to form
out of the subconscious
that lies behind these
drunken eyes and
irrepressible grin

A boy I once knew and I
were walking home from school
kicking rocks
when a beautiful woman drove by
in a then new Cadillac sedan
smoking a cigarette,
"I wish I was rich," he said
"Then I could land a broad like that."
"How?" I asked
"Huh?" he said, confused.
"How would you get her to like you?"
"Women are trophies," he said,
"You win 'em."
"Oh," "What happens when you win them?" I asked.
"***, I suppose."
"And then what?" I asked again.
"And then you have 'em, you win."
"Well, who's playing?" I asked.
"Everybody!" he asserted, "Everybody with a ****."
"Oh," I said, "But why is everybody playing?"
"I don't know!" he exclaimed, "You ask too many questions!"
I stared at the rocks on the ground as they passed.
We kept walking in silence until we split ways at a street sign,
and I didn't see him again.

the female is confined;
a fly in a moving car
and rain falls
and snow falls
and one by one
the female dies
as she is released
into earth and into
rivers and onto creek beds
and one by one
tadpoles become frogs and eat flies
before they become stuck
in moving cars

looking both ways
on my street with houses lining it
leading to more houses and dead ends
with front porches overlooking culdesacs,
culdesacs with front porches on dead ends
watching Letterman
no, Leno.
Leno gets a lot of ****
but he has his crowd,
and they all live on my street
leading to nowhere and culdesacs

the heart knows
to pump blood
to the extremities,
but sometimes
the heart
sees itself
in another ribcage
and forgets to beat

the truth
is not so much
a thing
but a
symphony-
that bounces
off walls
and changes
shape,
and the
honesty
is found
in the space
between