Friday, October 12, 2012

19th Shot for Dylan Thomas

Original,
word-wielding,
whiskeyed Welshman,
stuck his mitt
into cold crystalline drifts
of time gone by,
came back with an open,
fistful of enduring,
ringing rhyme.

Saturday, April 07, 2012

Faithless for Now

Fer Crissakes, make me a believer!

Hew my hate in halves for splicing.

Give me
exponential growth of ire
that'll ne'er
or nigh expire.

Groom my most gruesome,
egregious, gut-born bile of
proud prejudice into
crude, for profit,
ultimate unctuousness.

Egg Yolk Daybreak

A bombast of sun
greets the dream-drunk fool.

Sleep's been thrashed thoroughly.

Crowds of careening clownish, cartoons
populated the place-
some blown about by rash winds,
others abruptly absorbed by
quaking, liquefacted lands.

Consciousness gurgles up
through slumber's
punctured, enveloping membrane,
leaves him groping, grimacing
graceless toward
where the windmills whir.

Charlie's Blues

Two score four to choose

thisthatother ...

embrace, eschew.

Algorithms
for angst avoidance
scrawled scrupulously
on stained scraps
tucked into
charcoal sketchbooks of
Sodom and Gomorrah.

Native hue,

sad as a

crushed

fur-felt fedora.