Wednesday, September 30, 2015


24-7 City

...and a strategy thereof

-I’m running on it! Safe City!

-It is already if you stay outa certain neighborhoods.

-Or Founders’ Park after dark?

-I’d never go in there then.

-No, or you’d be knocked over by one of your buddies!

-It’s possible.

-Level with me! How many robberies in there perpetuated by
by those you know?

-Ninety-eight percent.

-When I’m Mayor, you and I hafta negotiate it down half at least.

-What the deal for me?

-We’ll figure it out.

-Can’t govern without thieves, huh?

-To this date, no one has found out how.

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Tuesday, September 29, 2015


Experience Quite Universal

After the bloodbath,
went home. An

American was there, and

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Monday, September 28, 2015




-That choice is a real beauty: a box of fuckin guts or an urn of fuckin ashes!.

-Then why not burial at sea? Or jump in beforehand and drift to oblivion!

-Good! Let the sharks…!

-Too tough for them! Smelly too. The little nibbly guys?

-That'll take awhile.

-No hurry. Then bones drift ashore, bleach, bang together, disintegrate.

-Pretty! I mean it!

-So you don't always crack sarcastic?

-Not when I find something nice!

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Sunday, September 27, 2015


The Candidate

 “Beginning of Loser Stink!”--he thought he heard, passing
Happy’s office.

A political assistant, Morsel, had got him a rental cabin 

for now.

The Fire Chief wouldn’t let him back in the house,
though the snaps from his departmental phone
demonstrated very little damage compared to the
rest of the foothills town.

He drove to the shore confident that the campaign
was taking the weekend off. He’d leave the cell on,
but no action expected.

His opponent would seize the media with his reactions
to the fire. Why not? He held the office.

Stopped at a 7-11 for a few groceries and a six pack.

So, weekend rustication. Gloria, arriving in Paris with a trio of
girlfriends, didn’t have to know for now. Let them enjoy

The cabin was a block from the beach. And what he expected.
Atlanta Falcons banners everywhere. And a closet full of clothes
left by previous renters.

He made himself a sandwich and munched Fritos. Finished with
canned pineapple.

The ancient TV had some cable music channels, so he settled
on Classical, Beethoven’s smashing Fifth leading off.

Finished a couple of Bud Lights listening.

It grew chilly and he didn’t trust the battered electric heaters,
so he fetched sweatpants and a sweatshirt from the closet.

Swam in them. A hunt for scissors. In the cramped kitchen, a pair,
in a block holding knives.

At the formica table, cut the legs and arms to fit. Great!

Mustn’t LOOK like a loser!

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Saturday, September 26, 2015


Who’s Crackers?

-Well I know that YOU’RE crazy.

-We always say that to each other, but...quantify!

-One a scale of one hundred...with...?

-Top being totally bananas!

-I assign you seventy-one.

-You’re kidding! That’s down the homestretch!

-Not at all. Quarter pole. Your future ahead of you.
Murkily. Wet track, you see!

-Sixty-four I’m saying for you, another Mudder.

-Not as coated as you.

-Nope. I’ll be relying on you as I disintegrate further.

-And we’ll both be relying on Stella and Norma.

-My Norma for normal?

-Close to it.

-I’m sorry, but I don’t wanna rely on your Stella.


-An understatement.

-Doesn’t affect me since I stopped listening.

-Shhhh! They always say we don’t listen.

-The girls have neurotic quiddities, though, and deserve
a number therefore.

-Quite fair. AND Equal Opportunity! Fifty-five sounds
about right.

-In summary, the quartet, in their various personas,
tracks off to Nutsville.

-Can be lovely country around there.

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Friday, September 25, 2015


Pope arrives in Fiat

Maybe our big shots could settle for Chevvies?

Nope. Caddys and Lincolns. Often in their monster

SUV configurations.

And reinforced, since Ay-rabs might plant roadside
bombs, or open up with AK-47s. Or both.

Why not opt for surplus General Patton Tanks?

Clank clank clank come our Public Officials!

Easy to get private money to pay.

Can still have Patriotism when expecting a little back!

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Thursday, September 24, 2015


The Conference


-So you represented the laity?

-Midst priests, ministers, rabbis, imams.
The whole ilk.

-What to report?

-First, expropriated our cell phones!

-Good! Isolation from the mean world’s

-We wandered the desert--actually the grounds
of the rococo pile.

-Encountered fellow pilgrims face to face?

-And I’d forgotten how gothic faces are, generally.

-Oh  well, did the experiment work?

-Like they all do.

-Phone come back to you?

-They fucked that up too, I got the Bishop’s.
Great porn!

-Surely you couldn't unlock…?

-I prayed for a miracle.

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Wednesday, September 23, 2015


The Art of War

and they is us

Winter of our discontent
insists Candidate N
in the fifteenth year

of the war to save us from...
we’d all forgotten.

Candidate B singing
Happy Days Are Here Again!

Meaning round the corner
where Spring could be.

Buds and all that good shit!
The Enemy wishes to field

a contender but the President
maintains we haven’t sunk that low

to the contender for contender.

Lower than a snake’s belly!
he ruralates.

The hicks go forever ecstasy
over their own. We have guns!

they shriek. Wanting in.
The army stays Professional!

stresses General Mulcahy,
waving his Art of War.

The Libertarian Candidate
proposes a flat tax,
flatter than Aunt Tillie’s Tits

re the country song.
We tried that and it’s shit!

the Enemy chimes in
and is escorted out.

The Socialists blame the bedlam
on Capitalism, but can’t
find an argument

that sticks. The FBI has been hunting
arguments in order to butter up

all sides. They’d arrest the damn
Enemy, but he’s too well-connected.

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Tuesday, September 22, 2015


State of the Thee-a-truh, or Theater

-Play's two minutes old when the "Dude" throws
a leg over the "Broad."

-They wanna get the sex out of the way, so the
characters can discuss it for the next two hours.

-Don't remind me! And discussion? The stink
of locker rooms folded into the wit of Valley Girls.

-That good? I'm getting a ticket.

-Finally! The theater disgorged!

-I've not been disgorged lately.

-That's all you've been, and I. From this low society.

-Been partial to low society most of my life. Ball and
Chain keeps threatening divorce.

-Oh? Well? Oh well, too, pertaining to the larger topic.
The Drama! We're in the inevitable Transition Period.

-Viva transition! And as for the DRAma! It's as full of
shit as everything else.

-When I speak with you, I feel I've been battered in
a bar fight.

-Viva bar fights!

-It...all adds up to nothing, then?

-Always has.

-By your lights, anyway.


And after I seen Corbett fight,
I put out Jimmy’s lights.

Last time at nine
he put out both of mine

BOTH singing, loud
In the town where I was born!

-I, uh, can’t quite forget my vulgar roots either.

-Best thing about you!

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Monday, September 21, 2015


The Banker

-You’re sure room?

-If they did manage to tap in here, they’d
get Mickey Mouse with laryngitis.

-At any rate, I was the most righteous
when most criminal. Derivatives

addicted me. The crazier, the more

-Democrats threatened jail time!

-Not an idle one. Hadda sweeten their pot.

-But as Republicans through and through,
how can we give...?

-Any port in a storm.

-Should the Grand Old Party worry?

-Not for a millisecond! Cut taxes on the rich
and fuck the bitch!

-Music to our ears. to John Q?

-He’s included in the latter part.

-Likes the attention.

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Sunday, September 20, 2015


Action Figure

Cindy, In Short

“Well I STILL don't understand!”

They pity her then, this intellectual family she’s
somehow a part of.

There frequently follow wisecracks as to why Cindy
lost her husband.

Actually a man who then married a widow with five
potential delinquents. She phones him weekly and
it’s forever Bedlam.

She has revenge fantasies involving those around the
dinner table, never him.

The best: they're buried in a deep mine.

Her only friend proves Mrs Finnegan. She had hired her
as housekeeper, though the family can't remotely fathom
why Cindy doesn’t handle that too, as well as chef.

No complaints, ever, as to the food. Being graduate of
The Culinary Institute.

She always has Mrs Finnegan at Friday twilight for a
special desert and iced white wine.

This time they hear a washing rain outside, very nearly
drowning the voices from the mine for Cindy.

Who flaunts the Reisling.

Dr Loosen Kabinett Blue Slate 2014! you utter nincompoops!

Perhaps Mrs Finnegan heard the voices from the mine also.
She definitely heard something as they sipped. Something part
of the severe rain, or not.

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Saturday, September 19, 2015


A Nice Story, really

When Jer’s embarrassing disease struck, he went to the
hospital clinic.

There, Dr Arnols treated him with the standard protocols.

And the candystripers giggled.

He missed a day at work, and his assistant foreman, Alan,
took over.

The trucks were loaded and unloaded efficiently.

On a followup visit to the clinic, the candystipers became
sweet and caring.

Alan: “What can you expect? Unpredictable. They’re
Apprentice Women!”

Definitely no apprentice, Ginnie Rockham, of Personnel,
had dropped into the hospital and silenced the girls.

Her main quarrel was the vague number assigned to
Jer’s disease. The insurance company would never
pay the claim.

It was almost as if the hospital also embarrassed.

Well, Ginnie Rockham wasn’t! And the new number designated
more specifically.

She went to the loading platform and informed Jer, and would
have nothing to do with any embarrassment whatsoever.

“Let’s grow up!” she admonished. “What else do we have to do?”

Well, there was something. A cursory look at personnel files
in Jer’s office engendered her disgust.

Thereafter she dropped by an hour a day to instruct Jer and
Alan. The main problem was that the old cards had been
scanned haphazardly into the computer. At her last visit,
she brought an IT woman, Belle Destiny-Grassley. The Destiny
had been her husband’s name, who met his in Iraq.

“I’m the walking wounded!” she warned Alan when he asked
her out a week later. “It won’t be a barrel of laughs.”

Meanwhile, Ginny invited Jer to a family picnic. “You’re the
only self-effacing man I’ve ever met.”

Other dates followed, for both men.

“You know,” Jer told Alan in a slack time, when the just-
unloaded trucks shimmered in heat, “I’m popular. Me!
With her family. I can’t get over it!”

Her Uncle Merilwill, “Murl,” finally returned an Eagles cap
he had forgotten at that initial picnic, and the men
discussed that team a full two hours.”

Jer apologized at having only beer and cheese crackers in
the apartment, but Murl proclaimed: “But the company
is Porterhouse and caviar!” 

Jer shrugged. “He likes me. They all like me. And Ginny
would kill another woman!”

Alan admitted it couldn’t go better with “Ole Destiny” also.

Culture Vultures, they had hit every play and concert and
poetry reading they could find.

Then, both men stared at the shimmering trucks a full minute.

“A day at a time!” they simultaneous blurted.

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Friday, September 18, 2015


May you live in interesting times!*

Go Figure

-Did you catch the Republican debate?

-Decayed hobbyhorses and disgraceful

-That immediate? They’re the past.

-I’m not into depravity. Fast or slow.

-Or old? Anyway, I think it’s mostly the genre.
Not a debate or forum or...?

-It’s TV!

-Yikes! That?

-In its purest shape.

-That is, shapeless.

-How can anyone vote for it?

*Chinese curse

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Thursday, September 17, 2015


Nature and Process

They always said you can’t walk off the island,
but, in a sense were wrong.

Hurricane Loretta, though destroying many of
the houses, thrust up a new section from the Ocean.

There you can walk now for half a mile.

It’s contiguous to Doc Rister’s and Hocky Morrisey’s
properties, so they fight atrociously as to who owns it.

Doc finally shoots Hocky in his tent, but the gun
blows up at the insurance round, dispatching him
in addition.

The state has seized the new land. The tree huggers
want a park, but Paradise Cottages–-Own your
little bit of etc--has already bid, sort of. Bribed, more like.

More Ticky-Tacky in our future, but with nobody forbidden
to walk there.

“Win-Win!” exults our governor.

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Wednesday, September 16, 2015


Stinking Thinking

Bix stopped some with "Listen! You're outa control!
Your thinking has gotten totally fucked up, and you're
heading for disaster and humiliation!"

Most listened further.

"Any decision you make, however small, run by me!"

They did, and were forever grateful. Told others, Bix
acquiring the reputation of the cool one. But, of course,
a madman dwelt in him also.

Keeping him down, and others un-maniacal, added up to
his life, but got him tired.

And as he aged...well he arrived at the final fatigue as
we all do.

The graveyard is blistering, though they found a shaded
place by a lake.

Some walk there to think.

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Tuesday, September 15, 2015



Promises and Ironies

As they had warned: Death Panels!

My neighborhood friend, Horkie, entered before me.

So, I waited.

“Oh yeah! Fuckin Republicans were against it, and
now that’s all that’s on the stupid  committee!” he
sneered leaving.

Squeezed between two guards, shoes scuffing.

My keeper out flirting with the receptionist, I took off!
Like a big-assed bird, we said as kids.

That Fun Time! Before knowing real hypocrites.

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Monday, September 14, 2015


Oh How We Danced...!

Mr Cheap Solutions

had his daughter and her inattentive beau write
their own marriage ceremony, prompted in its
less-than-moving recitation on the great day by
a clergyman of approximate sobriety.

The reception catered by the latest immigrant group,
whose cuisine consisted of lumps of dough laced with
minced garbage.

Their native champagne tasted of burnt matches, but
effectively lit the guests, who danced furiously to a
half-gypsy band.

When the starving musicians broke to devour the
"food," flasks of sulfuric fruit liqueur were passed

Anyway, It proved, all-in-all, our Cheapskate's Paradise!
Trifecta of inexpensive, gastric, and inebriated.

Okay okay! Just my point of view. One Academic Couple
pronounced it cultural and lovely and memorable!

Another trifecta! This time of the deluded. And what
would we do without them?

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Sunday, September 13, 2015


A Natural Leader

Murph’s Dad wouldn’t go into Vistas of Tomorrow,
he being a flannel shirt guy while they dressed
for dinner, Country Club Style.

Till they couldn’t. Then, robots did it for them.

And took that time to medicate, also. Sliding the stuff up
the old ducks’ rectums.

This procedure they devised at a robots-only meeting.
Yeah, you read that right.

So, no more piecemeal nonsense! Mogs77 then sought out the
Medical Director and convinced him.

His larger, ongoing idea is a retirement home for robots, not the
usual scrapheap after fifty or so years.

He and his Executive Committee are fashioning a new human
leadership more attentive.

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Saturday, September 12, 2015


Moving Through the Fringe

An organic supermarket still not the
fashion in the outer borough, but
Dierdre helped with the change
by dancing outside, just past the carts.

She parked her baby in some shade
and, understandably, went at half
the speed she had Off-Broadway.

Joined after a week by a Chinese man,
who performed the moves you’d see
in a Shanghai park.

Occasionally the two spotted each other
and changed the pace to suit. Lovely

A third person showed. Flamenco male
who whispered to a phantom partner.
Often with ardor, but frequently disdain.

We could sense her shrinking away at
the later.

But returning with fire!

Hester and Emily had a patriotic act and thought
of adding it, but Hester felt the three out there
just right for now.

They marched martially from the Bon Ton Diner, 

on Tuesdays and Thursdays, after English with 
Strawberry Jam.

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Friday, September 11, 2015


On Their Own

Sailor Boy Blue and Etsuko

She had a parka for him
because it would be needed
exploring the inlets of Chile.

But she begged him to stay
in Japan.

Papa-san was brought in to bless
both, and he counseled the same.

It had gotten too serious for
Sailor Boy Blue, and after he
zipped up the parka, he asked
Billy Joel to sing Uptown Girl.

Etsuko had a Dylan to sing
Like a Rolling  Stone.

Actually, Sailor Boy Blue sang
the song for Billy Joel, and
Etsuko for Dylan.

They sang well though.

The real singers were put back
into their boxes.

And, of course, Sailor Boy Blue,
Etsuko, and Papa-san, theirs.

Then, Brother and Sister made
dinner and spoke of their days
at work.

He had her blessing to do what he
wished as to the San Francisco job.
What Sailor Boy Blue would.

But, next day he phoned the recruiter
and turned it down.

As adventuresome as Sailor Boy Blue
always is, he smiles in his dark box.

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Thursday, September 10, 2015


Island Life

Islands of a certain size sort themselves
as to conveniences and sin. Thus the
small hotel.

Plus the restaurant, the pharmacy, hardware,
etc. Where the longer relationships build
to climaxes boring or fatal.

The rare body found, native anyway. For some
reason the tourists kill themselves more often.
The last one covered with snails.

A new teacher comes from the mainland and the
gossips assign her to a married man.

The bachelors without the staying power required.

At any rate, a buzzing during the day of the energy
of moderate money and immoderate sex.

It quiets at latest night, fires banked. Except for the
baker who rises at three and walks a block to his tables
and ovens.

The first stirrings of the rest of the village prompted
by the aromas of his loaves and rolls.

The more acrid one of brewing coffee adds in
from separate, lighted, places.

His pretty wife opens the shop at six. At eight he’s
home drinking gallons of water, followed by whiskey.
Then, cursing at the newspaper to sleeping like
a redolent brick.

She closes the shop at twilight. Taking long
walks in sturdy boots before facing his snoring.

The gossips leave her alone, understanding her
function completely.

The affairs of the village provide them enough.
It’s almost as if they arrange them.

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Wednesday, September 09, 2015


Necessary Ceremonies

Tiny “Murks” goes missing. And Hobnel sick almost, 
while frantically searching.

But...a daily occurrence. And the elusive Murks
always shows up around dinner, meriting the
best little tin of cat food.

It grows dark, though, and we exhaust all
the hiding places.

“Dark cat on a dark night...maybe he's heat-
seeking.” From Zello, the beer distributor
who always wore Birkenstocks. "They say
you're never too old,” he confides to Nehru-
jacketed Doc.

Before you think we're a bunch of hippies, we're
a bunch of hippies. Never fully reclaimed by the
coherent world.

Bent, who channels Walt Whitman, finds Murks
dead under some wiry brush.

"No sign of violence," pronounces Doc. “Just
his time.”

Bent then embarks on a bad trip, and Doc quickly
places him into Shoreline Clinic. So he can’t compose anything for the funeral.

It falls to Zollo, somehow. "I'm...a blunt  man.
A lovely, lovely cat. A miraculous creature
of God to take your breath away!"

Tillie then lifts the lid off the shoebox, and her
artwork, so we all could eventually see Murks
darkly nestled into multicolored scarves--
once she nudges one aside, its silver-
embroidered M.

Zollo loses it. "I never cry," he keeps repeating.

Then we all do.

We toast Murks at Kippy's Kool Kup after,
individually rubbing Hobnel's shoulders too.

Lillian pushes us aside, her profession and she
doesn’t abide amateurs.

Then we all beg her, and she massages each 

in turn as Kippy keeps the Seven and Sevens
flowing her way.

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Tuesday, September 08, 2015


No candy here:

Mornisey was ugly.

“Don’t you just adore my face?”
He asked cashiers.

They answered it was lovely,
sharing the jest.

Some went further, by claiming
not to be Mr or Miss America.

Joked himself through...anyway...
“Body like a block of crap!”

went his rap. Well then,
“He accepted him-
self for who he was!”–uh huh?

Thus saith self-help language,
which aids no one, really. Hey!

he played his hand and
who doesn’t?

Did he marry a beauty?
Gain, too, riches before?

Considering the motivation,
you’d think...SOMEthing!

Dwelt solo in a loft,

until the Big Cough
did siege him! Terminally.

You want better in this town?
Get a dog.

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Monday, September 07, 2015


“Too much like work!”

Macaulay enjoys

The New Economy grips
his opposites. Dregs

who fancy themselves
wits. They go!

further into wearing thin,
whilst he hauls in a stroke,
stopping at Bide a Bit.

His wheelchair slotted at
the fountain there for
whole, joyous

days, rain or fair.
It has quit.
Parts ordered.

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Sunday, September 06, 2015



All friends, indeed, proving fickle,

Chupsy got a dog. Irish Wolfhound.
They fall asleep staring at each other's
eyes for depths.

Dorry Maxine Delilah Ruth-Ann Hockner
let herself in with her key and stole the dog.

Moved to Vegas.

Chups bought another. And another.

Louise Bella Tess Destiny-Rohner eased off the
second mid soft snores.

The third, Patrick, well-hedged with electronics.

Though Mickey Helen Trina Orrie Dodge keeps an
eye open anyway.

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Saturday, September 05, 2015


Styles of Delivery


My brother sang Blueberry Hill for
the Sealtest Dairy's Christmas Party.

Their auditorium, and every kid got
a present from a roaming Santa.

Except me.

They didn't know I was coming

Still, made me sad, but a milkman was there
the next morning with a metal replica of
a Sealtest delivery van with a little milkman

Even now I see him coming up our stairs.
The human one.

So I play milkman several times, but my Uncle
Bill is one, from another dairy, and with a horse!

He enters our route with clops and the rattle of
of bottles.

Then the smaller clicks of bottles in his carrier as
he runs from the wagon, and the horse, a gray,
moves on at varied speeds, or stops for him to load
twin carriers.

A ballet that ends at Curran's Old Fashioned, which he
helps open while the horse chomps meditatively in a
bag of oats, gray in the still-gray light.

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Friday, September 04, 2015


The Cause

Then I opened the package.
Two Hershey Bars beautifully
wrapped in Christmas paper.

"You trying to bribe me?" I phoned.

He laughed. "In a way, yes."

I congratulated him for having a
girlfriend, since there's no way he
wrapped them. And added the tiny
bows. I rolled one between finger
and thumb.

“Is this a secure phone?”

“The securist!” whispered I.

“Okay, if you could help in the Northern...
our surveys indicate they still like you there.”

“Must be the only place. The South harbors
forever acid.”

“Never mind them! They take their one square
of chocolate a week, and thank me effusively.”

“But the North has armed?”

“HAVE they! Even to Grandmas!”

“Then be a hero! Make it one square a DAY!”

“My Party'll throw me out! The one a week
is established law! They'll scream chaos!”

“I'll call Wahnzo Cotzy and other radio and
TV personalities up there, and suggest the
new rationing. And you'll go along with it
while begging grandma to shove her Glock
back in the knitting bag.”

“Give them the exceptionalism spiel too?”

“Go for it! I do half believe it still. So that, 

and the wisdom of stepping away from bloodshed.  
But it's hardly admirable that we limit 
a product the rest of the world  can get 
as much as they want of.”

“I voted for you once. Despite the grammar.”

“And I'll for you again, if you defuse the
Chocolate Rebels.”

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Thursday, September 03, 2015


Three Women


The woman who pushed you to higher
moral ground.

Usually by cheating in some form. Thus
she taught her lovers compassion and
humanity and forgiveness by frequently

Heaven's a cinch for those she gypped.

They owe her.


The singularly vicious woman alienated
everyone, but her family stuck. With the
penalty of early deaths for some.

Eventually, those left got her into an old
persons’ home where management
finally had to build her a special cottage.

There the staff approach in hazmat
suits since she has become physically


The 24-7 Sweet Woman blessedly died.

Having done a lot of good! To most.
The rest decried the sugary.

Heaven agreed with the latter, inventing
a special plane outside the airy precincts.

Which the theologians haven’t discovered
yet in order to talk it to death.

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Wednesday, September 02, 2015


Requiring Hypocrisy

-So I’m to go 180 and blast my signature issue?
Which really represents us all! Our pride!

-Sorry. You owe. And we need you.

-For the Party? What kind of party goes back on itself?

Its hallowed, traditional word!

-One which survives.

-Well I won’t! I’ll go Third Party! Campaign on a bicycle!
The Last Honest...!

-We got a room where we scrap Don or Donna Quixotes.

-I can win!

-Uh huh? And another room for whoever helps you, your
Sancho Panzas.

-You’re exclusive in all else, but not in revenge!

-Hispanic Inclusion! Let’s welcome Spicks all to hell!

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Tuesday, September 01, 2015


The Transformative Moment

-I was addressing a mob of Southern Cretins
when it kicked in!

-Thereafter, you believed the righty bullshit?


-You departed The Bank of Cynicism and
never returned.

-I wouldn't say that, not exactly. In my personal
life I still fuck immensely around. And not cynicism, Play!

-Would God approve?

-Can't live on Him alone.

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