The Ship of Kazoo

Out of the sea the serenade began: two banjos molded into one,
four drumsticks tapped the water as if punching a gong.
When thermostats agree, do you brush off your purple garb?
The blood on the deck was a book that needed to be collated.
As if the sprinters fell flat and broke their noses in unison.
In your latest book you are standing on a dirt road wearing
shoes so dear to me. And now your toes are melting ice caps.
Do you have tea on western days when the wind forgets to waltz?
The sea soaked the underside of the boat with shards of glass and dew.
When you cry do you feel as parched as a nun on St. Martins day?
Your eyes were olives and you were a big cheese head.
I was going to eat you. But then you saw the darling view:
the geese were knitting a sweater for you, fine zoologist,
for you embarked on a journey without an encyclopedia.
When I fell into your arms, the billboards collapsed into guest bedrooms.
The day was a sweet farmer, walking home after feeding the goats,
and wondering if the potatoes ate his pillow.

Another Long Liner...

Blue Pulse

I was too wound up to sleep. On my way home I had found a sign that said
beer & wine for everyone. I think it was a bumpersticker. I was going through some
some shit. I was having an existential crisis about grad school, which is really a small
sort of thing I wouldn't want to burden you with. I didn't have any delusions about
the sign. I'd stopped being delusional about anything months back after being electrocuted
for an audience of pre-meds. It was something I'd volunteered for. It was a volunteer
electrocution, if you can believe that. It wasn't to cure me of anything or anything
like that, but they promised me money, which is a kind of cure, or at least I think so.
I was wide awake and clutching the sign to my chest. Let's say you are writing
a letter to a large bureaucratic office, the Office of Something & Something.
Let's say the lines of the letter keep being too long for the page you are writing on.
No matter what you do to your handwriting or how big a piece of paper you use,
the lines are still too long to fit on the page. This is exactly the feeling I had that night
with the sign, the feeling I'd hoped to rid myself of by being electrocuted, that I am having,
now. The lines, too long to fit on the page.

Prague

Thank you all for being so awesome. Sorry for being MIA!!!

I will start posting like crazy. Watch out.

An Ogre in New York

I am the fog that chokes the air,
The bat that's tangled in your hair.
I hide beneath your bed at night.
I am the rife, my friends, the rife.

Don't look directly at my orbit.
You'll end up in the obit.
Fie! Fie! You cry in disgust.
Come dive with me into the lust.

I roam the subways with the rats.
Chomp on tossed away ladies' flats.
Oscar the Grouch's got nothing on me.
My mind is a dumpster. It is bawdy.

Sift through me, sift sift.
See anything you like? Take the risk.
I am made from pretzels, ticket stubs,
I Heart NY shirts, pizza, subs.

Leap into the neon lights flood.
I am odd.
Be swept away by beer, Disco fries, soda.
Fill up on your poetry quota.

Ogre's delight - I heart it downtown!
Get lost here and be not found.
Hot dog carts and waft of fried onions.
With me you're bound to get sweet bunions.

Stay with me a little while longer.
Your ho-hum days will never be somber.
I'm the Coney candy rotting your teeth.
The salt in your sandwiched pastrami & corned beef.