An ivy educated American male,
bespoke suited but modest and sincere,
once seated and lighted to good effect
and confident of his look and manner
will, when gently prodded, confess
OMG. We have landed in an inane, insane, bombastic Monty Python skit, slap-dash improvised by a sick vengeful child king churning through endless hissy fits.
O lead them to a warm corner,
little ones toward bulkier bodies.
Lead them to the brush, which cuts the icy wind.
Another frigid night swooping down
Going to sleep, I cross my hands on my chest.
Carry your light out into the shitstorm,
Joan Baez writes, and what a swirl of turds
it is.
For the anniversary of the Jan. 6 riot that almost toppled democracy (more quickly than now), the hacks and crackpots in power have concocted a deranged revisionist history.
I wonder if our bosses have any idea how much time we spend
thinking about them. My friend Silvia can’t sleep because
she can’t remember the name of her boss from twenty years ago.
These Grannies were made for raging
And that’s just what we’ll do
One of these days these Grannies
Are gonna help get rid of You
Scientists are closing in on
the crowded quarter of the brain
where happiness lives. They like to think
it’s hunkered down in the left prefrontal cortex.
It made no sense to see him. He wore the leather coat he used to wear, an 8-ball on the back. Maybe this happens when you don’t acknowledge death.
You wanted anything by Elvis, large
as kinetic energy, like the wiggle-waggle
of ocean breeze through palm fronds.
Hosanna. Jesus cruising down
the Avenue on his ass
Roll your googly-eyes
every few minutes.
Agree with him.
He will believe you.
I expected an overcast sky, perfect
for hiding. Maybe you were
wearing one of those sundresses
that stop my breath.
Did you know monkeys peel bananas from the bottom up?
Ever try it that way? It’s easier. Monkeys know this.
People know it, too, or at least they do now, but
they don’t do it. People tend to be set in their ways