Wednesday, September 30, 2009

There's a bum
singing "Gotta Get
You Into My Life"
as he cruises
up my block ahead
of his massive flotilla
of shopping carts.

He loves me
more today
than yesterday,
but not as much
as tomorrow.




Tuesday, September 29, 2009

An ocean of sycamore
leaves is breaking
on my bedroom window,
here -- morning's last moan
as the minute hand
ticks up toward twelve.

At noontime, to "laze"
becomes to "languish,"
so, to keep appearances afloat,
I will write a poem.
Let no one think me languishy.

And, when I've squeezed
into Tuesday evening,
and we are saying "so long"
to Sybil, my sycamores
will sweetly swish till my return,
when they will suspirate me
once more to sleep.

Friday, September 25, 2009

Four Faced Liar Three AM

SHAFER: What's your name, buddy?
ROCKY: (shaking hands) Rocky. What's yours?
SHAFER: I'm Shafer. Like the beer.
ROCKY: So do I.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

'Twas the night before BCMF

Sing a song of six-gun,

a pocket full of hair.

If you hope to survive the night,

you'd better learn to swear:


"Play some fuckin' country!"

and scam another pie --

most of us have done this before.

The Guns have done it thrice.


Gather round us kiddos,

we'll keep you safe and warm;

slide the strings of a Telecaster guitar

and mind the swinging arms.