Because my thoughts hath dodgéd Death –
It ‘bruptly stopped for me –
The Uber driver, he and I,
And my eternity.

He wiped the right hand seat for me
And offered peated Scotch.
I quaffed the high intoxicant–
Now life dint mean so much.

Sunlight, saw it first: I cried as,
Tuggéd, I was spawned.
An IQ test in my fourth grade
Exposed to all but me,
Labeled me a progeny
And there my troubles yawned.

Then playground toughs when I was ten
Their thorns ensconced my crown.
Then high school bullies taunted me
Down to a vengeful mess.
At nights I blender’d out their eyes
To gooey blindedness.

I see now hundreds: urns of ash!
The Uber passes yon.
Of such is extent is vital man
Worn through his life, his sash.

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!

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.