nowadays
even lie detectors
lie

if you ladies don’t believe me
just try and ask the following question
Does this dress make me look fat?

the turkey stretches his n--e----c-------k
unleashing praises stuffed in his breast
like a rapid-fire machine gun

when the next Thanksgiving
is still far off

Day and night
a monstrous stomach
wriggles in his bloated belly

******* up
the unblossomed laughter
******* up
the teardrops that moisten a mother’s heart
******* up
the meager flesh under his wrinkled skin
******* up
the indifference in his eyes
and eventually ******* up
from his open mouth a ghastly cry
which we take for soundless
but is in fact at a pitch
well beyond the limit
of our comprehension

twisting & turning
the dwarf
limps away her life
on wire-bound feet

Many would take it
as the midway station to heaven
nineteen hundred miles up
can heaven be far away?

Some would even think
that sixty three million years
is eternal enough
especially for those hopeless potbellied souls
knowing that it’s impossible for them to pass through
the tiny eye of a needle
here, God is not
the Final Judge

Of course there are details to be worked out
for instance, should there be racial segregation
like that in the old South Africa
so as to preserve the purity of the ashes?
Or, as long as they can afford to pay
should even dogs and cats be allowed?


* Many years ago a Houston space service company had a plan to send human ashes into space.  According to the plan, ten thousand human remains would orbit the earth at a distance of nineteen hundred miles for a minimum of sixty-three million years.

Evening
a desolate street

A car with its windows tightly rolled up
stops for the red lights

Suddenly
in the rear-view mirror
a dark figure
looming
          
Sir, buy ...

The ashen driver
steps in fright on the pedal
and rushes through the red lights
like a rabbit running for its life
          
... buy some flowers
today’s Valentine’s Day

The white cat
stretches
and shakes

You little devil
shedding hair
all over the carpet

the higher the window
the smaller
and paler
the face

every time I pass underneath
I always have a funny feeling
something is going to land on my head
a spit
a cigarette ****
a flower ***
or a man
spreading his arms
trying to fly
like a bird

Built at the border of our hearts
this wall of the 21st century will grow  
drawing nourishment from all dark corners
of human nature
to become the Great Wall
of America

Hold it!
are you trying to come in
or get out

he won
yet he is not satisfied
all the cheering and hailing came from the living
but few, if any,  from the dead

so he vows to investigate
how many dead people are really dead
and how many living people pretend to be living

off the view
a tree stands in mute amazement
watching beside him
another group of tourists
devour the scenery
with flashy teeth

I don't know why I write poetry
all I know is that writing poetry makes me rich
enjoying -- not possessing
the ever-expanding universe
without fear of inflation

in the sky --
white clouds
singing larks
whispering wind
the tender moon and twinkling stars

on the ground--
mountains hills plains gullies
lush green red brown yellow
oceans streams lakes ponds
splashing gurgling burbling
the blooming flowers
the vacillating leaves
children's innocent laughter
cats dogs chickens ducks birds
jumping chasing croaking singing
all are parts of my life's fortune

of course, there too are
ferocious dark clouds
harrying eagles
howling storms
withering flowers
roaring guns
and piercing screams
the shadows that lend dimension
to poetry and life

In fact, I don't write poetry
poetry writes me

A block of marble
and twenty six letters of the alphabet
etch so many young names
onto history

Wandering alone
amid the mass grave
an old woman has at last found
her only child
and with her eyes tightly shut
her trembling fingers now feel
for the mortal wound
on his ice-cold forehead

Now that she is middle-aged, my wife
likes to stand before the window
and comb her hair

Her only makeup a trace of cloud
the landscape of a graceful
poised maturity

The cloudy sky, turned away
by the sunglasses on the reviewing stand
falls heavily on our faces

The final war has ended
we now march toward the first

the public square is scattered
with traces of wild excitements

hats thrown into the sky are trampled on the ground
shoes danced so fast that their feet couldn't keep up
a brown bear is held tightly in a little girl's hand
her other hand holding the string of a balloon now plucks
at her father's intestines
motionless eyeballs still flicker with last night's fireworks
blood streams out from open mouthes like a passionate song

and the roaring message from a distant festival
can no longer excite any heart to beat again

In order to shoot
an invading bird
they define an air space
with searchlights

In order to shoot
a fleeing compatriot
they ***** a paradise on earth
with tall walls

no room for doubt
God makes ears
just for listening
to this hot argument
about life

seventeen years of desolate incubation in the dark earth
a few days of endless joy under the sun and the stars

lonely lonely lonely
joy joy joy

lonely joy lonely joy
lonely

joy.....................

Hi. I am Art Buchwald
and I just died

          no sooner had he finished his last words
          than I heard a baby’s first cry

Hi. I am Art Buchwald
and I was just born

A wolf
howling at the sky

smells
the bait
inside his fence

drops his tail
and becomes
a dog

how to dash
in the shortest time
across the great expanse
of the onlookers’ wide open mouths

taking off the clothes
is of course
one of the best ways

no time to worry
about catching cold
or getting caught
in a storm
of morality

they
put him
in the cage
to hear
his song
of freedom

LOUD
and
CLEAR

knowing
those who can’t go home tonight
will all stare at her
with sleepless eyes

she fancies herself up
plump
and brilliant

a heavy blow
the whole earth shook violently once again

isn't he suffering from Parkinson's disease?
how could he be back in the ring?

it was the dying man
throwing all his weight
at human conflict and social injustice

his last punch

Ambitious politicians
will mass reproduce themselves
to gather votes

And once in power
they will without doubt eliminate
their blood replicas
knowing full well
that they are every cell
as power-hungry
as themselves

outside is cold
while the tears rising
from the bottom of his heart
are boiling hot

so the softhearted man
keeps them rolling and rolling
inside his eye sockets