Friday, April 4, 2014

The Slush Fund

The Slush Fund

She was a collaborator. She conspired with a corrupt regime, 
one that lived in the mind of one man. Never got caught,
punishment arrived regardless.
She was his slush fund. That man wanted her
to pour herself like bad rain, he surrounded her like mist, 
and as her words collected in beautiful dark pools inside his thoughts,
puddles formed in which he liked to splash naked from time to time.
When they lay undisturbed for long periods,
(he was a busy man you see and let himself in and out
as he pleased), the pools grew things, mysteries festered,
uncultured culture, breeding ground 
for what would have been better for everyone if they did not live.
Like petrified fungus, the bad rain calcified her inactive bones.
Lets look forward, she thought after a while. 
Her eye looked up, open under the water but seeing little above. 
I look for the day the puddles dry and the slush fund is all spent, 
she said to the rain. You watch out.
I'm not dancing my rain dance in this desert again. 
It was springtime, and she got busy.
She told only those who cared to listen and sympathize. 
She held the hands of her few listeners, and whispering
under their fancy umbrellas, together they jumped, 
boots off, into every pot hole they could find. 

Saturday, July 20, 2013


My tongue developed a blister,
painful and throbbing, a menace.
I thought to myself, what in the name god god is this,
I've never had such a thing before. 
It lasted days and days and then: poof,cured!
as suddenly and inexplicably as it appeared in my mouth,
just as my deepest worry came to nothing, 
With a reassurance of no harm done, it left me.
Then I read: cankers respond to stress. 
Aha. Well there you have it.
It wanted to say to me: Watch your tongue, Lady.
Shut The Fuck Up.

Monday, April 22, 2013

What hides in the garden

My garden awakes for spring,
or so they say. I worry about it.
I know beneath the rocks a menace
hides, awaiting. creatures oblivious to anything
but their selfish appetite, threaten the blooms
of the old crab apple, the lilies, the flowerless wisteria.
they wait for warm weather, lie still and let us think
they are all gone for good.
I know better. I invite inspection. The inspector
says not to worry, tries to calm my fears.
They are part of nature, he says. Deal with it.
Ignore. The tree will be okay, he says to me,
as long as the buds are there.
For now I’ll take his word. There is really nothing
I can do, but wait and see.


Well hello there my lovely stranger,
where you gone to all this time?
I’ve missed what you mean to me,
though I can’t say what it is,
I know it’s there because I miss
something and here you are
to help me find it, whatever it is
that I’ve been missing.
You know how I love telling people
that something is missing, don’t you?
specially my women, but they don’t seem to like it,
for some reason they get upset, sometimes they even cry.
I feel so sorry for them then,
when they get upset just because of what I said,
I said that something is missing in my life.
They seem to think it’s them.
What’s wrong with people, eh?
They must have something missing too.
It isn’t me because I’m with them when I say this
although sometime I’m not, I sometimes say it from afar
and I don’t mean I miss them, it’s confusing, you know?
Anyway, I just wanted to say hello,
and have you been missing me?

The other's voice

Why do you cling so hard, lady?
let go, old friend. Let go
of me, for though I wish you well,
I always will, I never dream of you,
well not that often.
I’ve got my life back home you see,
and you’re not in it,
so please won’t you just go.
I travel, light on the ground, no rope shall tie me down,
I fly.
let go. I’ve got things I want to do. People too.
Stay still, unchanged until I need you once again, in time.
You know I will, but don’t you wait too hard.
Let go, for now.
Take care.

My fortune cookies

May you rest in the peace of my mind.
Once loved, twice forgotten.
Secrets should be taken to the grave.
Don’t get angry, get even.
Don’t get even, it’s a waste of a good time.
Time is short, use it well.
The well of wisdom is as deep as the universe.
The universe doesn’t think about you, it just is.
What has been is what there will be.
Life is good.

Beginnings and ends - Do.

Do we ever get to know?
No. Does it matter what we know?
No. Should we ask you why? no.
We’ve talked about this
so many times, chewing on it,
on this tasteless gum sticking to my teeth
and I can’t spit it out.
There’s little I can do.


You got eliminated. 
Slightest detection of deficiencies
gets you to the bottom of the list.
I spy with my little eye:
idiotic impatience
emotional imbalance
crude impervious ignorance, 
saturated hate.
Keep them to yourself.
All opposites – welcome.


Once these curls billowed like seaweed
like me in the shallows of your attentions.
willowy no more, nothing svelte remains
except that love, now twice as thin as the ghost
swishing in the gutters of my ego.
My artillery bilious, my owl eyes tired
my squandering generator absconded,
and so I stand upwind, my curls fast asleep.

In Memoriam

Commemorating is for pain.
bliss is remembered without.
I’d rather pierce his heart
for commemoration, she said.
That thing is perfect as is, why spoil it.
Perfection needs no additions.
Or edition. At any rate,
he never forgets his cock.
cocks never need reminders.
they hang there
oblivious of memory
indifferent to memory loss
or rather, they thrive on it.
They forget and move onwards and
upwards. If they can.
When they flounder, the cocks that is,
then they remember, something.
They get a little sad around the edges.
They look for signs to remind them
of lost glories.