Men’s Dark Conceits of Night Pt. II

As lead meets lobe
And slices through
A man’s extinction’s mess
Created thence
Through palms all red
Drip through her finger-sieves.

“But why? But why?”
Too late, she sees
That he’s erectilized —
But fading now
To puttied clay —
And falls she to her knees:

Too late to stop
The shot of lead
That led him, damnédly,
To take to hand
One sil’vry shot
To launch eternity.

To my Better

One man wields words so well, I’ve wondered:

Is no left-leaning cow unsundered?

Wryly, Riley’s lithely rhymes

Often mime the chapel chimes.

Profligate, this word-stuffed beast

Bests celebs who are the least.

Waxes, times, religious awe

That drops my soul’s dumb, gaping jaw.

And then perhaps there are his best–

Pure grams of gold–an eggéd nest.

I wish I had his constancies

To match his craft, his constant sees.

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.