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What I Love About HistoryMy roommate, Cara, wears all black, which she thinks scares me. I've never bothered to tell her I wore all black for two years, eighth and ninth grade, and I'm just over it, not that I think she's lame or passé, but there's nothing remotely…
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Many years ago I visited a nude beach. I undressed at the car and walked with my companions onto a California beach as naked as the day we were born.
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One day it was boring / to be alive.
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The knees remind you: you are old,/
and broken, and unlikely to improve
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jaws blossoming with drool,/ a captured wolf slinks low/ across the crowded land/ for that most tender lamb/ to catch it by surprise.
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People Who Go to Poems for Truth
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You stand in the mirror. You see yourself. You stand sideways; your profile is always your best. You tuck in your stomach, you stick out your ass but it's the same. You stand face front. You shiver. The mirror adds weight to your already sagging breasts, the wrinkles…
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Looming ahead was another polite suburban party at which, after a couple of pops, I'd say something that embarrasses my wife in front of her girlfriends. Or so she claims.
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When a multinational big box furniture store opened just off the expressway outside the city selling all the same products at greatly reduced prices, they contemplated the possibility of closing their store.
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Mint upon my palate, I rub sleep infused eyes and crawl under the covers. Oh blessed sleep, please descend upon this body and transverse this fatigue. Eyes closed, bring a wavering blackness upon subtle lids. The conversation begins…
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I wanna make
banana peel poems--
slippery little booby traps
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hookers are better educated these days
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* Dedicated to Bernie MaddoffThere was a long line at the men's room.You know,when men reach a certain age,there is an urgencyto their frequent trips.So I saw an opportunityI said:" I know Bernie I can get you in.""Really?," they saidbut I played it coy"It ain't easyBernie…
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She didn’t think of herself as an undesirable, no, she didn’t, but did find herself cowering in face of the presumed judgment of those around her. They had more money, more clout, more everything.
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Going to the candy store at night in the section of town called Kalliope. Riding bike, trying to get there before it closed at ten. Getting candy at that little store with the glass containers and the rows and rows of candy. Getting milk there…
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I would fly drones with hydrochloric acid sprays/
over their squadrons and watch the disfigurement/
begin. I love disfigurement...
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Another new spring and the leaves
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They look like giant golden raindrops, or flying saucers, or peculiar fish out of their element
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Tender bodies sizzle on the grill.
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The next week, she sends a small white box in the mail / with tissue paper, a ceramic mold the color of bleached bone—
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...That flash of horror as well as the lie that replaced it were mirrors of sorts and both told the truth.
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The poppers, the Viagra, the chorizo – all had been ordered and all had arrived.
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It is a hot August night — the same kind you remember from that summer after high school graduation. A cool breeze blows in off the ocean, sweeping across the boardwalk just hard enough to dry the …
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My poems have appeared in four different publications; three have died shortly after they ran my stuff. Coincidence, or something more sinister?
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That old woman's got to be senile or something. The other day she asked my daughter if I had a "thing about water." Sharon told her I didn't, but then came right in and asked me, "Mother, you got a thing about water?"
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But here it was, Friday afternoon with Deborah checking MySpace for interesting bulletins or messages before she made some weekend plans, finding a blog from Fred posted that same morning with two simple sentences.
"I know. I've known for a long time.
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On Martini Business Nights the rules of decorum were written by Esquire or Playboy.The red bar-side book divulges the secrets brewed with ice, libation and a sleek chrome shaker, because its all about the accoutrement, and technique. Mr Boston said that, NOT James Bond. If…
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rockstar, moviestar, literary supernova – burning out before all the planets are declassified.
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Its intelligence won’t be/
diminished when you take/
a bone saw to its cranium
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