he’s not eaten in a while
you can easily tell
legs & arms moving
[as if] involuntarily
shoving into his face
anything he can get
his paws on
hominid or animal
it’s too early to tell
definitely not from
anyone’s locality
having crashed into
the wild wild rainforest
once upon a time
august two thousand twenty-two
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sideways with the world
eyes crossed & nearly closed
all you wanted was bubbles
but the wind took everything away
the birds & bees & prosperity
the clouds & trees & grass
to the point where the entire panorama
was dirt & dust & sky
[like in Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath]
and you’re left as a stranger to yourself
in your worn leather boots
desirous of a shot of whisky
& a bubble bath
instead left to kicking
a rock down the road
a rock not even the mighty god of wind
cared to notice
august two thousand twenty-two
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there is much to fear
but the thought is fleeting
for there is much to do
such as renaming islands
or teaching children
a new language
forces around the world
gain momentum
destroying anything
in their path
—years later a second wave ensues
[the reconstruction phase]
villages slowly reappearing
vegetation taking root
from the ashes
august two thousand twenty-two
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I’ve learned that August
has a mind of its own
a pretender with multiple
personalities
like a common mynah
I’ve learned it’s easiest
to pull weeds after the rains
their roots becoming
relaxed & confused
simultaneously
I’ve learned it’s best
to write a poem
when there are things
still needing doing
—the importance
of the day
having lost all meaning
august two thousand twenty-two
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playing with house money
we experiment with more odds
mixing wisdom with youthfulness
courtesy of an unknown god
you scratch your proverbial head
asking which way next
pretending to comprehend
how the road only goes ahead
you’re in the passenger seat
someone else behind the wheel
no longer working on a mystery
mere mortals merely dreaming
august two thousand twenty-two
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below ground
coincidence can be found
bone & rock & history
loosely wrapped
inside places even your
imagination can’t fathom
unless you’re dead asleep
in the air is where it’s at
high as a kite so to speak
transported by coal-consuming
flying dragons
firing on all cylinders
taking you to places
only years ago unthinkable
if you can’t escape
the exosphere
you’ve no choice but to die
a stone cold death
or fall back to the surface
reborn to climb yet again
or dig into oblivion
august two thousand twenty-two
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you just can’t turn it on
it doesn’t work that way
not like a car or a night light
not like making coffee
before sunrise
there you see it
& there you don’t
how dare you tempt me
posing as a dream
only to be long forgotten
so you sit there
at a loss for words
asking yourself what would
Bukowski do
what about Dorothy Parker
august two thousand twenty-two
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we’re starting to make sense of nothing
the magic in magicland
the danger in danger zone
do you remember that time
you pissed off the Aussie Supermodel
it’s winter in summer
and you’re discoing in the other Hemisphere
you swear you’ve never been there
but how else can you explain
not knowing about the anomaly in Arizona
that time you pissed off the Supermodel
man we all just about peed our pants
do you remember or was it all a Dream
that year on a whim we decided
to venture Down Under for the winter
august two thousand twenty-two
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what can I take from him
in his waning years
that I’ve yet to discover
he asked me
is there anything that I have here
that you want
anything whatsoever
of course I realized
he was speaking of material things
having consistently kept his own philosophies
close to the vest
in hindsight there were probably
a thing or two or three—
could it have been
he was opening a door
trying to bait me like the fisherman
that he is
tempting me with a tidbit or two
only to yank it away
I nodded sideways
uninterested in the material world
incapable of matching his own imagination
august two thousand twenty-two
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the pain is more or less
bearable
I tell myself
in between breaths
my words
are unrecorded
I hit the play button
but there’s nothing
but ghost static
the sun keeps
disappearing
earlier & earlier
I get up & look
out the window
tell myself
it must be cloudy
tonight
and limp back
to your bedside
& pretend
to steal your pain
august two thousand twenty-two
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can you imagine
her breaking in on the scene
attempting to decipher
what exactly the aliens
are doing on this planet
the fossil record
has long been replaced
ever since creedence clearwater
came onto the scene
assassinations will eventually
replace any & all
mass shootings
targeting those actually
or pretending to be
part of the problem
digression is a son of a bitch
but what’s left to do
other than looking back
analyzing why we hadn’t
put away such evil empires
in the first place
august two thousand twenty-two
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do you see my face
how it’s changed over the years
behind these bars
my eyes are barely visible
nobody here knows my name
nobody’s available
to interpret my dreams
I talk to myself without speaking
a stark reminder how
it’s always been this way
back in the day I never slept
but now it seems that’s all I do
back in the night
I roamed the city streets
blasted by light
both inside & out
fully packed & constantly aware
I look for a place to be alone
so here I am doing time
alongside natural born killers
learning from the second best
& taking from all the rest
august two thousand twenty-two
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the illustrator is a solitary sort
unaffected by the price
of electricity or groceries
quietly going about the business
of pleasing one child at a time
as a student of life itself
nothing was out of bounds
pain & grief & sorrow
joy & humor & celebration
aiming to make the children
think for themselves
creatively showing them
the power of possibilities
august two thousand twenty-two
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it was near midnight
the dog was barking
waking me mid-dream
just as I was I ready
to corner the dormouse
I stretched & yawned
slowly rising to my feet
stretching my legs
& lifting my back upward
toward the ceiling
by this time the dog
had retreated back to her bed
but eventually curiosity
& the red full moon
got the better of me
august two thousand twenty-two
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All children must go to heaven
Those not making it to school age
Their lives forever young
Faces kept inside lockets
Moments in time frozen
Played over & again
Shadows longer in the winter
Eyes sparkling like distant stars
Smiling like chameleons
Hiding in broad daylight
august two thousand twenty-two
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wanting to go deep
past the beginning
the starting place
keeps changing
self-medicating
with various devices
unlikely approved
by the powers that be
haphazardly curing
that which ails me
one unforgivable sin
at a time
before the cock
crows (again)
I tell myself I’ve never
denied you
not in this life
nor the next
august two thousand twenty-two
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all rights reserved
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