Friday, December 28, 2012

A Poem About Beekeeping

A poem from the book Submerged Structure.

The Beekeeper

"What freakout
Routine is this,
Buzzed the call girl
Flipping the lights
To discover me in
Full beekeper's gear.

"It's a number 7,
I droned, lifting
The veil of my helmut,
"With a Bavarian twist.

"Kinky," she squealed,
Cinching her abdomen
To the impossible 16 inch
Hourglass needed
For a Bavarian.

I cautiously laid
Out my tools
And set to work.


Thursday, December 27, 2012

Rockford CSI

I find the current mania for shows where brilliant mentalists use their powers of observation to solve crimes and use all kinds of groovy gadgets to dissect crime scenes and eviscerate criminals until they confess. I find it interesting because the amount of murders that are solved and someone convicted has fallen steadily since the 1960's. Maybe the rash of shows is just wish fulfillment. People wish someone was smart enough to know what was going on and cared enough about their job to actually investigate when things went wrong.

Rockford CSI

An ant crawled 
Into the bottle of Grolsch 
I left on the counter last night 
And drowned like an American 
Tourist in a Dutch brothel. 
I notified the Coroner’s Office 
And they have deemed it 
Death by misadventure 
Though no one is sure 
Who to notify. 

Friday, December 21, 2012

Demented Children's Story Hour

In the early 90's I wrote several books. As soon as I wrote enough poems for a book someone wanted to publish it. It was nearing the end of the Small Press era in American publishing and approaching the digital age where anyone could publish a book with very little effort. But in the early 90's it was still somewhat of an effort and a minor accomplishment if someone wanted to go to the effort to publish something you had written. I had forgotten about many of these books until the whole business about the Mayan Doomsday prophesy reminded me I had written a book of poems titled Poems At the End of the World. I don't think any of the poems had anything to do with the end of the world. Maybe they did, I don't have a copy and I can't remember. 

Then I started finding other books I had written in the databases of University libraries. Another book I had written was titled Demented Children's Story Hour. Published in the New Sins chapbook series with other poets like Glenn Sheldon I wonder what poems are in that book. 

Here I am at the beer can house in Houston.

Friday, December 14, 2012


Something about this reminds me of the story from Creepshow where Leslie Nielsen says "I can hold my breath for a long, long time."

Footprints When I saw One set of footprints In the sand I knew you had Made your getaway Sometime between Late Night and high tide. Assessing the depth And gate of Your footfalls I also deduced You were carrying The Sony Trinitron And the plaster-cast Impression of the ass That caused such a Sensation at the Renaissance Fair. I knew then I had been carrying Your ass for Way too long.

Thursday, December 13, 2012


I'm always amused when people ask questions like what one book, person, or album you'd choose if you were shipwrecked on a deserted island. Who wants to be shipwrecked in the first place?


   For 1,000 days 
   The bonfire I started 
   With the idiot’s maps 
   Who landed me here 
   Has burned on the hillside 
   To advertise my 
   Lonely planet. 
   Tuesday after the government 
   Broadcast of Gilligan’s Island
   Your spaceship crash landed 
   In my spice garden, 
   And watching the 
   Hatch open I thought 
   “Fuck rescue,” 
   There are fruit 
   Trees here.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

How To Leave

Sometimes you just leave a place. No better or worse than you found it. One night you just turn off the light for the last time and you leave.  

   How to Leave 

   Place 10,000 
   In Monopoly money 
   On the counter and 
   Explain this should 
   Cover the broken 
   Windows and back 
   Rent. Take a good 
   Hard shit in the 
   Toilet and leave 
   Bacon grease on 
   The stove. Make 
   Sure to toss a sixer 
   Of something classy 
   Like Blatz in the cooler 
   For the next broken 
   Down sucker to come 
   Through here.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Lenny Bruce Pardoned For Obscenity Poem

I woke up one morning and saw a news story that 37 years after his conviction for obscenity, Lenny Bruce had been pardoned by the governor of New York. It led me wonder what other pardons were forthcoming. So I wrote a poem. 

   Good News 

   In the morning New York 
   Overturned a 1964  
   Obscenity conviction 
   That hounded Lenny 
   Bruce to the grave. 
   By afternoon the whores 
   Of Holland had voted 
   Van Gogh the sexiest 
   Man in history 
   And just this evening 
   The Catholic Church 
   Announced Galileo is 
   No longer under house arrest. 
   Press conferences were 
   Scheduled but all three 
   Insisted on remaining 

Monday, December 10, 2012

Enemy of the State Poem


   You don’t bend that way 
   And they know it. 
   The raps and blows are meant 
   To empty your head 
   Of the thoughts that 
   Terrify them. 
   It’s all done in the open 
   With hot dogs and lemonade 
   For the kids. 
   Now when you protest 
   It will be in defiance 
   Of rigged wrestling matches 
   And when you rail 
   It will be for I Love 
   Lucy re-runs. 

I suppose one can simultaneously be a weapon of the State and an enemy of the State. 

Saturday, December 8, 2012

A Poem Titled "Buck Owens" For No particular Reason

This poem is titled "Buck Owens," but not for any particular reason. 

Buck Owens 

I'm on to this 
I mean I'm wrapped 
Around its words 
Like an earnest 
Intention to pay 
The rent or learn 
Another language. 

I'm losing this 
Poem like a 
Drunken cowboy 
Being tossed from 
A reluctant bull-

Friday, December 7, 2012

Dingham Road And What They Do There

Dingham Road

Dingham Road

There’s a road named 
Now that’s funny. 
Probably there are 
Some fuckers who 
Don’t think Dingham 
Is funny. 
Who are these fuckers? 
I want to know.

Thursday, December 6, 2012

The Yellow River

I appreciate the poetry of Richard Brautigan quite a bit and was probably reading it when I wrote this poem.

The Yellow River

Disoriented by Vietnamese beer,
I enter the hot zone
Approximately four inches
South of my intended
Insertion point
And am repelled
By an aggressive
Guerilla resistance.

War is hell.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

My Poetry Pension

My Poetry Pension

For years I tried to explain
That poetry was my business
But to no other refrain
Than what do you really do
For it is plain
No man Woman or beast 
can survive on poetry's wages
You must have at least
A trust fund a patent
A talent for pandering, 
Begging or bootlegging.
No, I insisted, 
a straight job
is my bane, until
One day i told this to a judge
And she ruled me insane
And forced me to be treated 
For my poetry malady
With scream, shock
And poetry therapy
Additionally she enforced 
Upon me, her voice full of tension
A monthly punishment of capital
She called
My poetry pension.

Saturday, December 1, 2012

Submitted To the Academy For Your Approval

For the entire month of December I'll be featuring my own poetry here at Zombie Logic Review. This poem appears in my book Flesh Wounds. Submitted to the Academy for your approval...

   Acceptance Speech

   I'd like to thank the Academy
   For not giving me this award
   Or the cash prize that goes
   With it. I'm convinced
   Another year of anonymity
   And privation will do
   Wonders for my work.

   I'd like to thank God
   And my father
   For being the same guy:
   Perfect at work,
   Useless everywhere else.

   I'd like to thank my country
   For teaching me to kill
   Those who needed it
   And defend those who
   Deserved it and the ignorance
   Not to know the difference.

   I'd like to thank the women
   Of America for choosing
   More obvious choices for their
   Recreational and breeding needs.
   Your daughters are coming
   Along fine. 

   Most of all I'd like to thank
   You for taking 98 seconds
   Out of your busy schedule
   To not enjoy this poem.