she don’t read my poetry no more


not that I blame her, she’s in the majority,
moreover, she’s got ESP womanly seniority,
sensing what I ain’t saying, before I’ve even
had a chance to think it through ain’t it clear

these double negations,
for the rest of you,
reflecting my slip slidin' away,
a slowing indirection of virulent
side effects spiraling sideways, ain’t it clear

everyone’s shouting
the end is yay! nearing,
but the  endings risk is trebling,
meaning meanings be altering,
all the same, ain’t exactly unclear

she asks me where I’m going,
to the pharmacy replied, perversely,
feeling unlucky, a sure sign it’s high time
to buy a lottery ticket, given my inversity,
gods of fortuna singing ain’t it clear

****, she says, you went to university,
you know the odds are just plain stupidity,
not in my favor, my reply, meaning exactly,
ain’t it clear, everything and so, nothing to fear

**ain’t it clear

The third time today
it struck me
I ain't so naive.
A falling  feather
or
an autumn leaf
on a wuthering day
finding it's way,
sometimes carried away.
Soaring high
and  stooping
low  
in an act of let go.

It has been
a long time
  since I worked.
I don't miss
doing the work
  or waking up at 4 AM,
But I do
miss the taste
  of a well earned beer.

~for r, just because~


put her in my mouth and she became my
mouth.

put myself inside her and she became my
insides out.

spill good words on her belly, licked & laced us together, then came my 
poetry.

on elbow, she claimed coauthor-ship, demanded her name above        
          mine.


I smiled, answering most matter-of-factly,
surely they’re your creations, you-a-ruler, procreator, foremost, first,

the ABCedarian

the muse goddess of alphabets, all that is poetic divine mistress to
thousands

I’m mortal,
your transcriber, copyist, alphabetically seconded, merest mere,

the ABEcedarian

I’m rudimentary without you, lost midst the masses o’poets nameless.

She snorted, said
“sounds like poetic ******* to me”*
but returned to her sleepy heaven,
mumbling most contentedly.

all those miracles at your dainty feet
have all the naked and the marooned
in a fathom of kelp beds on a spool
of Saturn.
We gather at the dearth of our perpetual
diaspora. Long in the wrong tooth, where the stars
misbehave to get to the harsh Truth.
so many moons left unconquered
a spittoon of tombstones
believing in raw bones
and Abigail's.

II

just a tooth in the Sun, hooked where pavilions
congregate like hot salmon clouds of Destiny, forked-
where the Anguish Blooms like a tyranny in a Night Poem
gloating in the Pond of our Ponderous Conundrums…
slumming with pearls of impenetrable disarray
where our open ghosts are bargained
on the altar of a too distant Star.

And
sleep has the meaning
in its grasp
but nobody knows
how to sleep
when it
counts.

where you're Not
so much at
last.