where did god put my poem?: a poem

where did god put my poem?
my head was invaded
something felt its way around
probed the inside of my skull
took my things, took my poem

god fed my poem to a dog
god used my poem to line his birdcage
god put my poem in the shitheap, where it belonged

a crab: a poem

lord, let me eat a crab.
i want to rip off the pincers;
i want to rip off the legs.

the sea has honed this thing,
as it smooths a piece of glass.
it exists to be killed by me.

a crab, a little beast you
press between your fingers,
so you can get at the meat.

hamlet: a poem

hamlet, as usual, was in a bind:
he had to kill his uncle,
but could he?
find out on tonight's episode
of hamlet.

good ghosts: a poem

what a joy it is to be haunted by good ghosts
frail spirits who walk from closet
who stroll from cupboard and sit
sit, sit down on chairs and join us

and there is nothing better,
and there is nothing heavenlier
than to be joined, joined without seam.

saturn devouring his dinner: a poem

our good thanks to the best expert in electrical toil controls
(i'm his pal)
and our thanks to jesus, who is god, and the holy spirit,
who is also god
(no foolin')

i'm his pal

muck: a poem

red brick on farmland
red brick in landscape
big building, falling down
big building, pumping out

the storied stairs of suburbia
toilets bubbling over, and

red brick stairway
red brick in everything anyway
and

pond of boiling muck, pumping out
jar of boiled muck, falling down
and

splattering staircase,
splattering stairway,
splattering red brick

and

puke devil: a poem

cool stuff, a good stuff, a brief stuff
flange change and cash exchange
a good thing, a bad thing, a fright thing
frumptious glens and horned fangs
good gangs and bad gangs
plank hams and slam trangs
good time, good time, one-one two
good time, bad time, how 'bout you?

tandoori cyclops: a poem

it's free, it's a freebie,
it's on the house,
take it. it's yours.

do what you want with it.
take it. use it. do it. take it.
but don't do that one thing,
the one the other guy was doing;
don't do that. that's not allowed.

be safe, be well, be happy,
but be aware. most of important of all
is that you be aware. so be aware.
to be aware is more important than
to be safe, and far more important than
to be interesting.

it's a riddle, it's a maze, it's a puzzle.
put it together, and a picture is your reward.
just a picture.

some bullshit about 'otherness': a poem

I.

why are there so many
drawings of dead astronauts
and what does this say
about our anxieties today?

tell me, in your own words,
two pages, double-spaced,
and have it on my desk
by friday.

II.

imagine, if you please,
and if i may be bold,
dolphin corpses floating
on a river of gold,
and the gold turns into honey,
and ten villages are fed,
and the universe remained
inside a single human head.

three stanzas of five lines: a poem

the state of poetry:
unknown to me,
unknown to thee.
i haven't read another poem since
two thousand three.

how do they break them up now?
do they attempt to rhyme?

yes, i must learn this somehow,

but just don't have the

inclination.

old ships, no longer any use, are broken up in port.
poems are thoughts broken up, repurposed: chants, of a sort?
where every emphasis must justify itself in court?
weak metaphor and tortured rhyme, enough to make you snort.
but sometimes that's okay, because you're drunk.