Bathroom Love

Happens, it does, in a house of two loos

That husbands and wives utilize them in twos.

At one at the same time dispense we our waste!

The effluence merges, and love voids the place

Of solids and liquids, each giving chase

Down into plumbing and into the sewage–

An intimate mingling! Ejecta and brewage!

Oh, blessing of sorts! Oh, lurid perfection!

Celebrate we this wet cosmic connection!

Toxic Sock Farm

I have a problem with my feet.

In winter of all times each sweats–

Olfactor’ly my nose doth meet

Odorific fulminance.


Sad, Sino-socks—none can contain

What each should best be hidin’.

Wife, she winces, pinches spent

Pairs from the toxic garden


Into laundry chutes they’re spurned–

Returned to Sino-Biden:

“These, your profits, these you’ve earned

“In China’s breast abidin’.”


Yet as I wear the pairs Red-crafted

Doff the pairs each night.

Consign them not to laundry baskets–

Noses, eyes, from site.

Captain Ahab had a Son

Know you how I Ahab love?

His count’nance fits me like the glove

Of cassock Herman spoke thereof.

He cannot love. He cannot love.

And so Ahábic parts in me

I now extract—cranially.

I’ll take yon top-maul and I’ll smash

The brainy pieces into mash.

Pickle that, thou steward, care!

Save it–after I do dare

To choke the tooth of Moby out

Who groin’d me unto such despair.

In Peterson’s Year of Hell

Oh fever’d night of sleepless hues!

Know I now of duty’d dues

Unto ones word-wracked neural paths

Churned and spun on Lethos’ lathes.

How to close my brain—each strain

Of thought, then verse, how to restrain

These mental heats that burst and show

Me as the cud-chewn spotted cow

That stalks myself like Ahab’s brow?

Pray hie thee hence away from me!

Allow some peace, some fraughtless space

Wherein verses, strain’d, shall be


Hide me, lobster’s carapace!

Prison Teacher

Winter’s olden, damn-dawn fog–

Teacher glow’ring ‘mid the bog.

Earthen eyes at soulless stares:

Inmates fastened to school chairs.

Stare I back, heart stake at stanchion;

God has stated His injunction.

Do that deed I dare not mention–

Face His dread eternal truncheon.

Note: I found this deep in some records from an especially dark day at work. It may be 18 months old. I mean the good Lord no ill will. In fact, I don’t quite understand what my meaning was. Comments would be, in this entry’s case, most welcome.