Thursday, February 26, 2015

party, part 2

illustrations by danny delacroix

paul had always been the life of the party
he was quietlly upset when larry replaced him
being replaced in this world is never fun
suddenly all anybody could talk about was larry

it was a time of reflection for paul
it was not unheard of for someone to make a comeback
from the deepest depths of violent despair
but what, exactly , could he do?

he had always expected a lot from himself
even as a young partygoer just starting out
he had zero tolerance dor mediocrity
and absolutely no patience for excuses

bring to on, he muttered to himself
as we walked through the calamitous night
maybe the dinosaurs couldn't come back
but he expected more from himself

first, he needed a plan
the gods couldn't help him
he had to be his own hero
just then he looked down the street

judy and louise were headed his way
they had kind of sort of been his best friends
they had partied until dawn long nights ago
it was always midnight when they got together

now as they approached on winged feet
he felt was it was like to be on the outside
paris and london and rome were far away
and his tears flowed like quicksand in st louis

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

party, part 1

illustrations by konrad kraus

for morrison, the party came first
he worked quintessentially behind the scenes
he wrote and read endless reports
he seldom emerged from the shadows

his time would never come
he understood that
victory, however distant, was enough
whether he would be there to see it

exactly when he converted
would be speculated on years later
but no traces could be found
of his alleged apostasy

the bankruptcy of dreams
is a constant of history
but the dreams never die
they evolve in the awakening of ectoplasm

fortuitously a diary has been discovered
and grudgingly admitted
by haughtily sceptical experts
into the endless investigation

neither jury of his peers
nor knightly champion
can lightly dispel
the monsoon of indifferent time

nothing has been finally established
and oblivion patiently awaits
for the party itself to be consigned
to the quicksandest of landfills

Friday, February 20, 2015


illustrations by penmarq studios

nothingness is expensive
especially on the outskirts of town
the plutocrats gathered on the patio for a smoke
but quicksand remained the best option

ruthie mae watched from the window
as the seance was held on the verandah
her turtle was asleep as usual
she wished she understood more about it

violent emotions were unleashed
when the forbidden subject was broached

except this time there would be no next time
and the young people looked away

no one blamed the sunset
although some thought it inappropriate
she was still her mother's baby
and the cat was never found

the detective did not deliver on his promise
everyone agreed
she never really had a friend
the grumpy old man next door stopped coming to the window

have you ever been lonely?
i know i have
just thinking about it makes me sad
kids these days - they just don't understand

a dream of being a lion tamer
is not the most propitious these days
nothingness is forever
and obsolescence weeps at the laundromat

Sunday, February 15, 2015

2 found poems

poem found in a notebook stained with yellow mustard

what is the sense
happy happy birthday
all the birds are sorry
tomorrow will be kind

i am so lonely
sad and lonely and low-down
ten years lost forever
how can i ever find the time

eternity is forever
so is my sadness
endless tears of white rainbows
never reach the end

sadness is forever
edge of the earth is purple
how will i ever find it
apples grow in the islands

handwritten poem found in a copy of my world of astrology by sydney omarr, purchased at a garage sale in burlingame, california


worse than anything that has gone before


i as no go fu the pogiz ded man - no way


no mo sef steam


when they got back to the hideout, they laughed their asses off


shine the light


everything is more real after it already happens


after the other side beat the shit out of him, he had trouble thinking and talking, and his own friends lost interest in him


he didn't mind the constipation - that was between him and god - bit not fitting into his uniform made him lose his self-esteem


almost thirty years old - and no war in sight! he wondered if he would ever join the hero's hall of fame


now that he was locked up, and would be talking to his interrogators instead of his victims, he would need a new vocabulary


he reached down, very tentatively, and pulled his prick out. it was small, even smaller than he had remembered


the guards weren't bad guys after you got to know them. they were all perverts too.


Monday, February 9, 2015


illustrations by penmarq studios

mickey was mellow
nick was nervous
oliver was obstreperous
parker was perverted

they quietly surrounded the sleeping giant
and reduced his resurrection to rubble
silently sighing in bubbles of sarsaparilla
they turned the terminal tables

everything is under the frozen sea of fate
waiting for the new improved version
whitecaps crash in the twilight

as assassins exuberantly exhale

his youthful indiscretions were not admitted as evidence
but nothing could save him from himself
he shook his attorney's hand
and bade his comrades farewell

certain niceties had to be observed
despite the lack of air-conditioning
every ritual was excellently respected
as the fire of idealism was extinguished

the old gods were packed in ice and sawdust
as the heat became unbearable
a strange incandescence crackled on the horizon
as the judge rode away on his red bicycle

no knight in tarnished armor
or lady's maid in rain drenched ostrich plumes
e'er made so marvelous a masquerade
as on that night at nature's own farewell

Wednesday, February 4, 2015


illustrations by penmarq studios

kindness is overrated
love is nothing to write home about either
make a note of it
nobody knows the trouble i've seen

outside in the distance a train whistle fades away
perhaps you have heard of me
i was quite well known back in the day
but renown can be fleeting

i am sorry about your loss of fame
you may recover it tomorrow
i don't pretend to understand these things

variety is the spice of life

where have all the flowers gone?
they have been exposed to the winds
youth will have its day
his taking up zen was the last straw

after hanging up the phone
he broke down and wept
confronting his checkered past
he decided to file for bankruptcy

he was never exonerated
and continued to have fitful nightmares
he grew a beard
hoping to avoid the more extreme implications

i heard all this from old bedworth
a connoisseur of juicy scandal
and the final knowledge of oblivion
left us all breathless at victoria station