Garbled voices through
walls thick, yammers and whoops
make themselves known. Intermittent
laughing adds to clues
of celebration next door. She
checks under doormat and
deep in mailbox, as she sees more
guests arriving with big trays
of film wrapped fruit
and crudités. Her invitation isn't
in sight. Venetian blinds keep
blinking peeks, all night, as others
come and go.

Cinder block fence separates.
She combs her gray greasy hair,
puts in rhinestone barrette,
wishes upon a star.

One dumb ******* mouth speaks
does eat
the face by

two thin chords
of pink sweating
easily .

it yammers it says
something about
the weather whether

or not
it might rain

heaping into
the pinched
nooseness

the fat trill
thinness of
its head:


sleeeeeep.

There’s no good men out there, Mamma says,
then yammers on ‘bout my dear Daddy who left us
for ***** and other women.  Never even phoned
once in those twenty-odd years before he dropped
dead of cirrhosis in a ****** downtown hotel.

There’s no good men out there.  Big Daddy
beat Gramma. Knocked a tooth out once, called
her “Dumb Swede,” ‘fore he ran off with a girl
of seventeen.  Then Andy who lied, spent Gram’s
job money.  Third one was a crotchety, mean drunk.  

There’s no good men out there.  Great Uncle Harvey-
never the same after the war.  Nothing but a dirt poor
farmer.  Strayed down to the gin mill most nights.  No
indoor plumbing, all those long winter nights racing out
to the old outhouse, dodging piles of chicken ****.

There’s no good men out there.  Sister used her long

string of them as good example:  potheads, speeders,

one musician, and that Mamma’s boy vet who hears

choppers overhead and needs five Jim Beam’s
for “medicinal purposes” ‘fore he can sleep nights.

There’s no good men out there.  Doctor made me recall
a few jokers of my own: G. who hated working, oh yeah,
and Rob with his 6 DUIs.  Surfer dude, Joe, high on fiberglass,
that well-heeled tight ***.  When Doc called my latest
nothing but an animated *****, I laughed so hard I ‘bout cried.

There’s no good men out there.  Seems like every gal I know
says there’s no good men out there, anywhere.  Maggie’s John
screws any babe who gives him a second glance.  Sue says her
Frankie might as well be mute. every man alive's a dumb ****.

But hey, all’s I need is one.

I awoke early - now my body will sleep,
though thoughts rise like the Azores
of snuggling next to such an adorable atomic
bombshell of a beauty - boars
into my mind with
sonata fantasy syrup passing
overdrive way past taxing cores
sans crankshaft, pistons and tires viz,
the posted reo speedwagon
deaf fin knit lee unsafe

to open any passenger doors,
where speedometer manifold the limit
inxs of sixty nine miles per hour
as me heart...lures
me to your storybook
swiss chalet, and desire pours
like exhaust smoke awaiting consummation
of ******* - scores
that fills ma cerebral nooks and crannies
even if needing to take dee tours.

Pepé Le Pew
would feel honored if ye wanna reef fur
to myself as duh non tat hood
test tickle your teacher,
'thou noah way would eye ask four
you to pay me any see moo null wage
though my golden arched ethos
parallels that of a sage
homage to my delight with words
incur many a recipient to rage

against my swiftly tail lord
harried style of writing,
whence a reader needs to spend
much time flipping thru each page
of a dictionary or thesaurus,
which mental effort most
often does not engage,
who doth newt tip a fie
formality, thus experiencing virtual
and/or real fine companions

scanned or probably deleted
via tha eyes of another
to jump/kick start a friendship
with this nattering nabob
of nativity modest guy,
whose peculiar mien only his way
to greet with a literary "hi"
and nada Tubi put off per my
poetic manner well nigh
which petic penchant

with words I enjoy to apply
literary creativity and invite
brother/sisterhood a try
incorporating thought provoking
whimsical phrases flush
down into the behavioral sink
toil letting with his lukewarm
scottish matted trademark uber vapid wry
attempts at self mock re: puns - y?

I (d-u-y-e-e-r-93
at aye yo elle dot com) dunno!

Ah...the delirious, glorious,
and illustrious thought
whence never again
to cull demise and forever hibernate
feeling crushed by the egregious atrocious,
heinous, and nemesis, poor ring in of late
and thus this obituary epitaph of sorts
(no matter he will opt
for cremation) finds frenzied
strychnine, poison. or hemlock
appear savory to this pate

a chance pair of perusing eyes
may find this blurb unable to eke quate
this plea sprung from plethora
of purse son hull wreck - I rate
anxiety sweeps across
me mental nada so healthy state
which panic wrought from poverty
per his prone nouns mints uber
viz zit with undertaker tete a tete
of decades long bout

with a psyche riddled with angst
waiting for Godot - Beckett ting
this papa who **** courting
escape from the posse aye bill
misty eyed gorilla in the midst
of his own financial catastrophe,
he loathes resorting regarding pots ability
panhandling to help him get free
of pauperism, which haint no joke,
and finds scabrous reply

ample reason to still his life,
though ma lovely grown daughters
would suffer psychic injury,
and forever be psychologically
marred if aye did merrily
row me figurative boat
over the abyss prithee
and hope for instant death
of mine aura, charisma, and karma see?

Tis probably pointless n frivolous
to expect presume salvation
for this married sexagenarian male,
yet nothing this capitalist ventured....
could do no worse
as my psyche doth emulate dancing quale
for being nearly penniless
(in this cornucopia of good n plenti), and rail
ling against fate may bring derision
per an unpredictable scale
argh - doth hardly shed light
on my penurious travail
cuz thy current checking account
without cents nor sensibility
yammers x2c ******* gasps
with a death rattle does wail

boot juiced....maybe lady luck shall draw
the gaze of one philanthropic facebook peeper
(at least enough largesse
to stave off self destruction of spouse)
welcome mat would willingly
be laid out for grim reaper
to whisk me away -
so I kin become an eternal sleeper
though each surviving loved one,
would be inconsolable weeper.

so...with fingers and toes
clasped I fervently pray
this mongrel mutt means
no bone(r) to pick
only that natural animal desire
that libidinal longing
to cop you late need to slay
lest my lament will be oy vey
so please take me -
any which way
yay!

This blurb hunted and pecked out
from ma Perkiomen Valley
mike crow scope pick dell
(actually reef fur ring a computer
manufacturer asthma
***** fide ****** dank cell)
and spends his days of his life
(as the world turns)
where dark shadows lurk
along this edge of night
off in near distant hour alarm
summoning like a suburban church bell
from outer limits of twilight zone
this self anointed force
without raising cain quite able.