Men-in-black United

Gangbangers, hicks, and

Coeur d’ Alene Indians

all dig Johnny Cash

Not Writing, Again

Another pastime

for my eight-to-five work day:

id, here’s your new boss

In the Grove

Town counselor jabs

pomelos with sharpened

sticks of old bamboo


Thick-rinded fruits thud,

their juices numbing, their size

swelled to ripeness


His face soft but proud

reveal a son’s sad eyes as

fruit falls far from tree


His own legacy

slips away like late sun rays,

mingles with the breeze

Thailand

The non-natured strut –

high-heels clicking on tile – of

cross-dressed starlets

Fingerprintless

Chicks chirp and cows moo

while nary a vehicle

rumbles through the calm


Days drift gracefully

and Time reverts to two halves,

one dark and one light

51st Haiku

Shaping the whole world

and all the things inside it

into five-seven-five

Be Gone

Maybe your momma

loves it when you do that, but

get outta my face

No Hug From Me

If you were truly

altruistic, you would not

mention anything, eh?

Au natural

Squatters' children

frolic round the old pump well

wearing only smiles

Bohm

Somewhere else, someone

unaware writes these words at

this exact moment

Welcome To It

Things done on your knees -

prayer, humility, blow-jobs –

only help The Man

Best-seller

I have employed

ten typewriting simians

in a locked room.

Won, a suburban Haiku

Won

Debts, a mortgage late,

five cars, two jobs, a big-screen

TV, and no words


Too!

The same people who

inspire debt are the people

selling your escape

Belly laugh

Best stand-up ever

was a Berkeley punk who

breakdanced for change

Veritas

To espouse deeper,

to say the unsayable,

that is comedy

High desert, at 3:21 pm, spun

Cirrus clouds scat to

the high and lonesome tune of

a desert blue sky

ha ha

A carpenter's son

gives each the divine right to

judge-forgive-repeat.


That's funny, and so

it goes, unless you're the one

who's been double-crossed.

What You Must

Love, security,

pre-dawn stillness – I’d give them

all for one blink of . . .

evolution?

How we’ve progressed:

from two men enter, one leaves

to “the Judge awards . . . “

Nic Fit

I’ve quit for good and

no one can tell me otherwise

but . . . wait . . . no . . . not yet

untitled

Love shines in the sun,

a gorgeous white shelter, built

on a hill of sand

Motivation

You have said some things

that disagree with me- I'll

save this for later.

a passing thought

O to be born,

when a bucket of cow milk

could trade for pure grain

So what stops us?

By nature, people

evolve unless made to think

lesser is better

In the Boneyard

Deceased children

lie, death-packed like mango buds,

in mailbox caskets

The Trick

Death seems quite unfair,

yet lying motionless is

somehow even worse.

What a Good Pull Can Do

Touching yourself yields

pure self-gratification

till laundry day comes



Just pray that no one

sees the discolorations

where your pant legs meet.



However, I think

the whole “feel – good” movement can

pollute as it saves.



How many killers have

been well-laid versus pent-up?

Satisfy that urge!



I’ll take wanking friends

anytime – you can discuss and laugh

without shaking hands.

Home

Home is not a place

but a keen sense of belonged

felt by head and heart


Home can be but a

moment, a flash connection

of was and be

Can

Can children un-do

what grown passion does? Zen says,
“
A child-like mind is . . . “

Cubicle

Furtively watching:

can your best be good enough?

One never can tell . . .