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.

ground slugs: a poem

slugs stay on the ground where the boots are
slow, brown, or goldfish gold, but slow
salt 'em, salt 'em, i don't care
crawling, walking, i don't care
slithering, slow
way down low
i don't care
about the slugs
they should stay on the ground where the boots are

what i will tell my children when i am old: a poem

when i am old
i will tell my children tragic beanstalk tales
of great giants
killed by evil men

i will tell them
the earth is made of cheese
the moon is made of dirt
and that's why no one goes there anymore

i will tell them
up is down
and black is white
because it is

fair: a poem

make lemons into lemonade
make an apple into an orange

god is fair, and life is fair
your tongue won't rot off
'til you can grow a new one

short bio: a poem

short bio?
freethinker
asker of difficult questions
not intellectually satisfied with the
paltry fruits of so-called american culture

they say life is miserable
but not for me

i drive a green car
and i'm in law school
i'm married, for some reason,
and i accidentally had children
some day, i'm going to eat my hands

i am a website: a poem

i am a website
people visit me
my craggèd face shines through the fog
will i be forgotten?
i am a website

i am a website
long have i roamed this land
coupons are what i dispense
life is not a mystery
i am a website

i am a website
be thou as swift as hermes?
goldilocks lied to us
all speech is nonsense
i am a website

family: a poem

do you know where your family is?
grandpa's in the nursing home,
playing platelet bingo.
grandma's i don't know where.
nobody knows where.
nobody goes there.

so you guess, you say,
on the whole, no.

lake monster blues: a poem

is the sky blue
it's a serious question
you're just a lake monster
stuck in a world of weirds

color represents
sometimes doesn't
can't you tell the difference
i'm slipping, but it's not a metaphor

saw a picture of champ
all the proof you need
munch brunch or lunch
no one rides for free

robert finnegan: a poem

remember when you was young?
dad spent a long time trying to convince you
that a giant robot wasn't your friend.
you didn't listen, though,
and that's why you're here.

remember that time you laid down on the train tracks?
that was a bad idea,
but you didn't think so.
some ideas can be good
and bad at the same time.
learned that one in philosophy class.

carter billingham: a poem

hard to believe it, but that guy's
got a square pattern on his tie.
leaving the house in that state,
ignorant of his wrongdoing (fate
having long-ago doomed him to live
unaware), he'd assumed that the worst of
his problems would be the weather. there
was no way he could have known (again,
fate) the cosmic mistake he'd made or
how they'd end up taking it, the ones who
knew, the ones whose reasoning was right,
true, correct. the ones on whose opposite
end are the men on the street corners, who
spend all their time yelling about how god is furious with us and
satan is real.

gonna song: a song

grampless chairdance
catless hairpants
where's all the pipple
in the whereson whereance

gonna-gonna take you back
gonna bake you a secret crack
gonna make a world
gonna make a world
gonna make a world of stuff