Wednesday, July 1, 2015


worse than anything that has gone before


i as no go fu the pogiz ded man - no way


no mo sef steam


when they got back to the hideout, they laughed their asses off


shine the light


everything is more real after it already happens


after the other side beat the shit out of him, he had trouble thinking and talking, and his own friends lost interest in him


he didn’t mind the constipation - that was between him and god - but not fitting into his uniform made him lose his self-esteem


almost thirty years old - and no war in sight! he wondered if he would ever join the hero’s hall of fame


now that he was locked up, and would be talking to interrogators instead of to his victims, he would need a new vocabulary


the guards were not bad guys after you got to know them. they were all perverts too.



somebody tried to talk to me the other day


quite an experience


short attention span


i just like to watch the red sox games and not get too alive


you know


jack didn’t like to talk but he was easily enraged


there was this guy


when the missionary saw the volcano looming through the mist, his heart began to beat rapidly and he forgot to pray


that’s a dirty shame


george brady had mores jokes to tell than any man in the county. you name it, he had a joke about it. where did he get them?


it all started in the schoolyard


god was watching, but he wasn’t listening


even then, when they were just starting out, they specialized


everybody has their own style - it can’t be learned or unlearned


speak up, young man


Wednesday, March 25, 2015

like a movie

you know how
it is when

you just

to see

you know from
a second

or third floor
window or

from a bus
window it’s

like they are
in a movie

and they don't
see you and

they don't know
you see them

and even
if you don’t

like them or
forgot them

and never
want to talk

to them again
they look so

sad and lost
and alone

Saturday, February 14, 2015

lunch hour

the maidens who work in the miasma of moloch's malaria
move their feet slowly
and their pocketbooks calmly
in the pure blue afternoon of atlantis

the flower seller has survived
but the man who sold newspapers (printed on paper) is history
and the shoe shine man has been written out of the history
which has itself been burned in the blast furnace of buck rogers's blueberry pies

i would like to ask the flower seller
the secret of her enduring fame
but the curtain of caution falls over me like catwoman's caressing camellias
as don fernando tunes his piano for his final performance outside the newly opened panera's

someday - very soon
savants will remember panera, and ruby tuesdays, and dunkin donuts
as the flashing emblems and impregnable strongholds
of a lost empire

and nothing , not even the smiles of aging maidens
opening their pocketbooks to buy flowers in the blue afternoon of betelgeuse
from the last flower vendor in the expanding universe
is so sad as a lost empire

Friday, January 16, 2015

movie poem

life is a
movie, as

long as you
can buy a

large diet
pepsi, and

a big box
of sno caps,

and find a
seat in the

darkness, and
get through the

previews, all
will be well

Wednesday, January 7, 2015


i was walking
down the street

and i saw some
regular people

just regular people
not famous

not crazy
nothing in particular

just regular people
lots of them

i kept seeing them
they just kept on coming

young and old
but mostly old

the world is getting old
that's just a fact

and i thought

these are just regular people

regular people
being regular

i don't know what else
i expected

but there they were
and are

they just keep rolling along
and cats and dogs

and hamsters and tropical fish
and other creatures too

there you have it, my friend