Saturday, April 28, 2007


You laughed when I explained that I like cash,
As if it wasn't something one believes,
But says when one is entertaining thieves
Or making fun of poets. It was rash,
But, honestly, what makes most things go smash?
No money. If I write about the leaves,
The flowers, love, and how the south wind grieves
As it blows northward, you'd say, What a hash!

We got along together well that day,
But all I saw, a yawning great abyss,
Kept me from happiness. It comes to this:
At which cruel moment do you walk away?
What happens when I wink at you and say
I specialize in songs of avarice?

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Ineligible for the Broadway Stroke

Ineligible for the Broadway Stroke,
She walked downtown, past Second Avenue,
And spent her last two quarters on some chew.
She makes large bubbles, which go up in smoke
When anybody makes a sexist joke
(She laughs, but tells them she's a Jersey Jew —
Which means to her just what it means to you).
She doesn't do hashish; it makes her choke.

Indelicate? The Broadway Stroke is cool,
Which helps explain why she was so upset.
The most important thing is, don't forget
She's only seven months out of high school,
Where almost everyone thought her a fool.
She's going to be smart, some day. Not yet.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

That Night in May

It's not a moment like that night in May,
With scents of blossoms hanging in the air,
My lover near me, smiling gently, hair
Aglow in the cool moonlight. Rather say:
"I ache in . . . places where I used to play,"
And sing about the pain located where
We once saw two friends kissing on the stair.
The summer isn't coming. Not today.

Today will be intemperate, and cold,
Dark, dank, the very opposite of noon,
And, willfully, tonight will come too soon,
An empty space, where no secrets are told,
The mysteries of life will not unfold,
The truth eludes us, and there is no moon.

Saturday, April 07, 2007

Esophageal Violence

If one more imbecile insults my hat
I'll put my fist through his esophagus,
And throw his dead corpse underneath a bus,
Remembering to call him gross and fat
When his distended street-bound innards splat
And spray and spread immense amounts of pus
Among the passers-by, who argue, fuss,
And marvel, "Man! What do you think of that?"

I think esophageal violence
Will save our headgear from insulting taunts
In all our usual accustomed haunts.
One feels quite safe, given the evidence
That flattened dolts won't go to great expense
To come back. Frankly, that is all one wants.

Monday, April 02, 2007


The three most interesting things I know
Involve the woman I can't live without.
That woman has the cutest little snout,
And when she sniffs my neck, and just below —
Well, that's between the two of us — I go
Bananas, living, as one does, with doubt,
The deep significance of sauerkraut,
The hope of light, and maybe afterglow.

She flares her skirt, and quickly spins around,
Showing a bit of skin above the knee:
A thigh, a sigh, and it's good-bye for me,
I'm gone without a chance, without a sound,
Somehow my head is lolling on the ground,
And stars are in my pocket — look and see.