Gulliver’s Tailgater

The security system at the William Mason Library is on, the lights turned off and we are officially closed. It’s a touch past 9 and getting dark on this hot August night.

“Good night.”
“See you tomorrow.”
“Safe drive.”

I check the front door one final time to ensure it’s truly locked.

Aching Molasses

My body
it’s becoming a fading memory /
a constant struggle
to keep on moving /
(I can’t get up!
I can’t get up!)

I have more band-aids on my body
than Les Nesmann from WKRP /
…cincinnati…
(you’re showing your age)

Flakes

snow falls on
the rooftop,
flakes of dandruff
looking for a home,
cigarette ash falls
from my burning life.

too much too much

I put out the cigarette
and watch the smoke
rise silently
into the air.

A Song of Heartache

I was running through a field
containing icicles in the sun,
the burning hot rays could not melt the ice
so I proceeded to fuck a nun /
she squealed as we tossed and turned on a squeaky bed,
I got up to go, she said: “Give me one more head.” /
But the inspiration was gone
I had nothing left to give,
I said: “I’ll come back next week,” she said: “maybe you’ll come.”
She sighed and turned her Gideon’s Bible to page one.

The Fate of Merryland

“There’s too much sadness in my kingdom,”
proclaimed the King of Merryland,
“from now on, everybody shall be happy
by the decree of me, King of Merryland.”

All the people laughed and put on a happy face,
oh, it was wonderful, where else but Merryland
would there be a national policy for emotions?

But.

There were dissenters, a group called, “The Right to be Sad,”

Can I Help You?

The other day there was a knock on my door.

“Hello, can I help you?” I inquired of the little man with big ears and bad breath.

“I really don’t appreciate what you are doing to me?”

After this very curious statement, the man walked away and left me wondering what had caused him to be so upset. I shrugged and went back to the typewriter.

Knock knock.

The River Deep

packaging my abject
body and mind
I sought counsel
I sought respite
from the dark thoughts
stealing my peace
…my sleep

floating aimlessly
I met
an ancient man
rotting yellow teeth
thousands of lines
carved into his
calloused skin

The Last Day of Poobah

The hardest part for a pet owner is having to say goodbye to our loved ones. Yesterday, I said goodbye to Poobah – my baby, my best friend, my companion, my therapist. Poobah meant the world to me, and I loved her so much – I cannot begin to describe. She was 13 years and 2 months old. She joined our household when she was a tiny little puppy that could fit into the palm of my hand.