Sunday, September 30, 2012


William Z Winsom certainly never before put 
groceries away naked.

But his clothes had been soaked from dragging bags upstairs through very 

nearly solid heat. A sort of  ticking came 
from outside, leading, he hoped, to the promised thunder shower.

He discounted the perfunctory tornado warning, one a day for the preceding week.

Droplets whipped across his neck when he placed Special K atop the frig. As he 

meditated on their appearance indoors, turning to the windows to check, the front 
of the apartment ripped off with a roar, exposing him to the Billy Benloes, dragging
Grandpa, drunk, to a shelter.

"Always knew YOU was some kinda 

pre-vert!" he cackled, black debris 
circling the luminous group.

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Saturday, September 29, 2012

Newlyweds Quarrel

-I was cheerleader and he star quarterback.
Make of that what you will. You and hubby
laugh at everything anyway.

-Not this. Not him. He's a jock worshiper.

-Anyway we got married. Monster bash. 

Then he was drafted into the pros. 
That's a short story with an anti-O'Henry ending. Broke his leg in pre-season 
and never could get back.

So he’s small college coach, now, and I work
for the dean. It’s okay. I like all the women there. Not usual with me.

But before all of that! Early matrimony proved
rocky altogether. And we had this one fight
I couldn't even describe. I mean everything
was on the table--and bleeding.

I told him if we were going to go on like that,
we should shoot each other. He left, hot!

When he came back--I thought because he remembered something especially 

biting he forgot to...

-Oh oh!

-No! He dissolved in tears and begged forgiveness on his knees.

-And what did you conclude from...?

-They never really learn how to fight.

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Friday, September 28, 2012

Again, History

is the story we
tell each other.

Personal history
is the story we
tell ourselves.

Both twist
if we wish

to change
face, sav-
ing it.


Thursday, September 27, 2012


is the story we
tell each other.

Personal history
is the story we
tell ourselves.

Both change
if we wish

to twist
face, sav-
ing it.


Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Two Republican Comedians

-Against President's jug ears alone, we gain close to a million votes.

-That many? Wow!

-Yeah, there’s a real Ear Aesthetic among

-The Mount Olympus of Eardom! All those
fat white people on the Convention floor?
Never thought once to check out external
auditory structures.

-A thing of beauty is a joy forever!

-But not a Jew forever! And will we someday
admit theirs, and more yellow or black ears?

-Not possible. I said Aesthetic, didn't I?

-You did! And that can only mean white.

-Amen Amen I say to you...

-Pale faces rule.

-All the pretty ears!

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Tuesday, September 25, 2012


Was a Rebel,

announce I from
time to time.

Seinfeld counters such
a class of utterance
(paraphrasing) No,

Johnny Yuma is a rebel.
You’re a nut! 
Hey! On oc-

casions didn’t really speak up,
for shyness, though these duds

somewhat balanced by shooting
off my mouth sans any substance

through other crazy frames.
But so what? 300 estimable
average in baseball.

Jerry's comment still gives
me no end of amusement
in itself, at myself.

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Monday, September 24, 2012

Seiko Astron Watch* 
or The Toys of the Rich

advance Empire.
And yet, a cat
can look at a King.

And the scuzziest peasant
in America ask the time
of the equipped exalted,

though such precision
goes by him.

 *Set by GPS, might lose or gain a second in
100,000 years.

Sunday, September 23, 2012


The Right Wing Government had featured much Freedom-Mouthing, and leaders 

in limousine monstrosities followed by 
Yes Persons in buses.

The leaders were murdered by the Revolution,
and scruffy newcomers took over in jeeps.

The Yes Persons, of course, switched 

their tunes seamlessly.

Soon enough, the revolutionists evolved 

into Armani suits, the limos returned, 
and everything relaxed.

Five years in and we were pretty much 

into the Every Man a King, Every 
Woman a Queen phase.

Which takes us to the present milieu, best illustrated by a walk I took with my friend 

in Minneapolis.

The first wave we encountered wore PERSON OF THE YEAR tshirts. Followed by LITTLE LEAGUE CAPTAINS of their various times.


Most of the award winners had pushed 

ahead as a sort of impromptu parade, 
some carrying actual trophies which 
flayed around dangerously. Such flashing hazard proved too chaotic to TOP INNOVATIVE BUSINESSMAN 2032. 

He organized them by screaming.

BOWLERS OF THE DECADE, ST PAUL, helped him, and soon was restored aimless milling, and Top Innovative's sanity.

GUTHRIE THEATER smiled, once we got close enough to read his tshirt.

We were about to test him with obscure allusions when a Grandmother shrieked 

at us in no recognizable language. 

Then we did decipher "Where's your accomplishments, Numbnuts 

Nothings from Nowhere?”

"Mine are home. Mother taught us not to flaunt." I answered.

My friend added, "When all are marvels, who does the work?"

“Not you!” she snapped, this CHEERLEADER OF THE CENTURY. “I recognize your type, calling everybody whores and sluts!"

“If the shoe fits...” he fired back.

“Yeah? Well, when they snuffed the old regime, they missed you two. Well, let me tell you, that can be remedied!” She joined

Elliot park.

Finally she pointed to us, her silk jacket taking on a leaping iridescence in her agitation after missing a blocking shot. 

Her team threatened with upraised fists too.

Discretion being the better part, etc., we slid though the prestigious crowd, finally entering the Hot Dog Depot.

Award-Winning of course.

We sat on a very large and quite artistic 


You'd think they wouldn't allow that 

but they did.

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Saturday, September 22, 2012

Two Young Men Speaking 
Their Unique Chapter

-How’s it going with Jeanette

-It hath made me mad!

-Maybe you should change your luck. 

Kick her outa the bed for Bruce.

-Ah yes, Bruce, the archetype! Curlers in 

one hand, decorating swatches
in the other. The Berstein’s sofa 

haunts him! It was never quite right!

-Whatever. You might find more love.

-He’s as severely menstrual as Jeanette!

-That’s impossible, I mean physically.

-More things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

-How ‘bout yours?

-Shut down. Failure every which way.

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Friday, September 21, 2012

Can't Sleep AM Radio

Gold bugs promise fortunes
& guys can't get it up. Strained

brained right-wing ranters
(singularly loved by the vicious)
shoring survival food against

invading racial waves.
Others counseling love
stricken, or loan

stuck. Mega Church, ord-
inary Christ-extortion. Sports

dudes trying picayune
quarrels. It's all hardly vast,

but waste
land nonetheless.   

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Thursday, September 20, 2012

“Where did you go, Joe Dimaggio?”

Joe told S&G he didn’t
go anywhere. Anchor-
ing Mr Coffee

commercials. But as soft icon, did,
from the getting and spending

where sex grossed out
the straights unless
a gain to it, Mrs

Robinson yanking a fin
from her funky purse.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

The Great Privatization

-We got a Bangla for President. 

Ten bucks a day.

-And VP?

-His brother-in-law for five.

-And their staffs?

-They don't need no staffs of lazy bums.
Used to working hard.

-Man! You've saved millions off the bat.

-Still slow going though. We just finished
with FBI.


-Don't be funny! We're getting the 

Bangla to issue Executive Order. 
Humor must be announced
beforehand. Too much time sorting 

things out.

-I'll walk that back.

-Never mind. Apologies waste time also.

-At any rate...?

-FBI all India Indians now.

-How's that working out?

-Fine if your don't mind the curry stinks!

-That's humor!

-I'm exempt.


Tuesday, September 18, 2012


So Candidate Nabbed

mouthing typical
Royalist shit?

So what? Noise, not

whenever boys do it.
Grownups, at a point,

make them ante

since they can see
no moral reason

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Monday, September 17, 2012


Class & Paternity

The Apparent Mystery of Class

-I don’t know who your father is. Sam was close and so so sweet. The only one. 

The rest, insane scum! Do you actually want their DNA at this late date? 

What for? None would have stuck like Sam did, and love you the way he did.

And does. Not a one I can assure you!

-Mother, are you a whore?

-Then, yes! Not as bad as them, but who could be?

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Sunday, September 16, 2012



He knew Hell, like, already.
From the sour sonabitch
who ruined worklife every

black morning: Harangue or bit-
ter saw vibrating even now. Can
the feathered flits drown such by

winging it? Providing raw music
to dance athwart till he detects

a partner loose enough
for Paradise?

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Saturday, September 15, 2012


Study History, Anthropology etc

Thoroughly interested in how
they did it then, since we don't

really know what we’re doing
at present. Our doubt for now
concerns the endless rout

of so-cautious thought by
fatal happenstance. “O

if I could only get a breathing
space!” On that personal level,
it‘s not you who writes finis.

But without much adieu
we’ll all muddle through

sans your hysterical input.
Remember that before you
again do History.

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Friday, September 14, 2012


On High Manipulation of Facebook Stock Offering

There’s honor among thieves
but not among the wealthy.

They screw each other over
as gleefully as they do
the poor.

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Thursday, September 13, 2012


“It's not bitter, not sweet.
It's a star-spangled treat.”

The patriotism of beer
needs go unchallenged,
a universal. The putzes

in Munich burned so
with stricken ambition

to quickly remake the world
and opposing faces, yet their
sodden crusade highlighted

an expiration date in
a thousand years! As

the languid scholar asked
of Hamlet, “How’d that
come out anyway?”

Our vacant young portrayed by
brewing commercials are all
carpe diem. They challenge

button-downs with happily
slapdash horseplay, like

self-conscious orphans
anxious for adoption.

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Wednesday, September 12, 2012

When Rich Beg

to let The Market work!
they mean for them.

If it doesn't, they bribe,
collude, and bully.

And John Q Sucker beams
the screwy propaganda. Hoping

for tips, of course, he's ripped
off encore. Reference Ancient

Irish Vulgate: They piss in
your pocket ‘n tell you
you're sweatin’.

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Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Old Political Floridians

-That picture in Melbourne paper? President from rear? Nappy hair and jug ears. Picanniny Central!

-I’d be more careful saying...

-What for? Only you here.

-They say...don’t trust anybody.

-Hell I trust you!...why you were even queer
before it became fashionable.

-In the present atmosphere, I don’t think you could blackmail me on that.

-Leaving the dancing fairies behind, I got enough
on you to put you into Leavenworth.

-Bit of hyperbole there I do think.

-You Do? Well I don’t! Repeat it!

-Oh come on now, it ain’t a game.

-Repeat it!

-You got enough on me to put me in Leavenworth.

-Language can have such beautiful melody!

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Monday, September 10, 2012



Democrats have an obtuse
relationship with truth.

Point out fibs, they're
puzzled. Republicans
are proud to lie,

the more grotesque-
ly unrationed

the better. Brimming with
joy in their high, hale Quest
for the Grail of Fabrication.

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Sunday, September 09, 2012


O the Nonsense Abstract

meaning zip
since that
's the idea.

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Saturday, September 08, 2012


He retired to Florida quite early after
Dr Kistlerling, the younger one, unearthed
the precise code for Inky’s premature aging.

It plugged in nicely to Social Security
and United Healthcare computers.

Gwen-Ellen quickly went into a Bingo
frenzy and drove evenings to all compass
points from their Pembroke Pines condo.

He tired of the endless talk about digestion
among his new boccie buddies, joining
an internet group dedicated to Dellina,
Queen of Porn

His own particular dedication was to a part
of her anatomy called “The Sweet Corporal.”

He applied himself to that, and to the larger group,
ultimately becoming the latter’s president.

In his first email in that capacity, he remarked
on the name of the subgroup resembling Sweet Caporal Cigarettes, a brand popular mostly in the World Wars. This historical fact joined others of a
gynecological sort.

The couple rose in darkness every humid morning
and performed brisk housework before breakfast.

And lately, Gwen-Ellen eased the hangover from
mid-morning restlessness, with sporadic trips
to an afternoon bingo in a local strip mall.

They took to wearing moccasins, brand name,

In his non-porn activities on the net, he discovered large star Antares was nearly directly overhead, and they began drinking to it with orange juice at breakfast, prior to Special K.

Friday, September 07, 2012


Inner Campaign

-Your opponent has breast cancer.

-Just one side. I can pin her down on the other.

-How can you live with yourself?

-Nothing’s fuckin easier.

-I...don’t know...

-Grow up! It’s war!

-More like pigs!

-Yeah? Well get out there and squeeze the biggest porkers
so they squeal. Squeal lahk a pig!


-What we’re promising, Sonny Boy!

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Thursday, September 06, 2012


Conventional GOP

They featured the white heart of darkness
with notions medieval in starkness.

But they had a good time
dispensing the slime.

Then adopted ebullience to bark less.

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Wednesday, September 05, 2012


Capitalism’s “Creative Destruction”

Meaning the greedy
obnoxious pricks short-
ing the little guys for sport.

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Tuesday, September 04, 2012


The Devil Can Quote Scripture

Not to look here for example.
His surrogates abound

like "patriots"--some overlap
in language trapped.

A case or two illustrative?
Just look around.

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Monday, September 03, 2012


Romney Tours LA Hurricane Sites

Do he talk to de cullids
on de cots? Tell dem

hard times not un-
beknownst to he?

Be Proud Negroes!
he buck dem up?

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Sunday, September 02, 2012



A, then? With
its apparent
clarity? Or B?--

thinking in bits
of parts. One,
the familiar.

Other, retic-
ulation. Many

say go for it!
You'll grow.

Uh huh? This prole
opts for steady.

Mystery'll come on its own,
like an infecting guest. Or in

today’s transcendence
of the real halfass.

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Saturday, September 01, 2012


Bide a Bit, 4AM, Male Corridor

-Hope I’m safe here in the boys’ section.
My lady nodded back off and I hadda
walk somewhere!

-I’m waiting for Dribbling Pete in there.

-One...last drop. I think he’s done.

-No way. He got ten dancing minutes left.
Meanwhile, how’s it going? Especially your
sex life?

-Same old boring shit...and THAT went!

They’re kissing as Mr_____emerges,
fumbling at his pajama fly. He sees nothing,
but curses generally.

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