Obtiuary

The projected obituary has been scrapped
in recognition it was a sham, a flawed curriculum vitae 
as if  it were possible to request by proxy 
promotions for the dead.

Don't nightmare them in the great sleep
with fiction as to who they were and what they did.
Close the book.  Let them rest in peace.
It's hoped that they'll be a final judgement, and if not -

I supposed an obituary is like a wake,
for the living not for the stiffs.

Antsy

Day blue and hot as August
Red head woodpecker shanks a tree

Feast of bugs on a bark, red head holds the vertical,
seems could care less about a gouging.

Day blue and far from autumn, meal while feast 
bugs overlooked, and no one for it is the antsy

Not the crawlers on the platter,
not at all, the banquet master.

Learn from nature
Eat only when you're hungry.

First rule in dieting.

Resist not Evil

Midnight flight New York to Moscow
Half wit on board
drives Babushka bananas

Talks loud all to hear
Language coarse
Opinions too stupid to be labeled moronic

Continuously kicks seat in front
Seat on which Babushka's back is resting.
Warrants an old fashion ass-kicking

What to expect from new rich kids
of former communist  cadre?
Remind yourself of Jesus teach

"Resist not evil." What did he mean,
suffer the stupid forever
that the Juniors eventually die?

Midnight flight New York Moscow.
If Aeroflot crashes, half wit deserves it.
But what about me, Babushka?

What Babushka deserves
 is to be entombed
Queen of  The  Bolsheviks.

Blow Heart Wine

Give me a break
The ache I bear
are horns in my head

Two o'clock on a weeping morn

I am tears married to a trombone,
gold braided woman,
her womb my spittle mouthpiece.


Two fifteen on a rainy morn

Me, the damsel's drunkard sailor,
our song, "Hold Tight Through The Jostle"
On the scale, two slides forward, one slide back.

Two thirty in street lamp dawns

I dizzy down St. Nicholas Avenue,
cavern bound, the gig's last solo
a bouncing ball over St John The Cathedral


Three sharp, I've been orphan and altar boy

You got soul, give me a break.
I'm a hole in the wall, 
no way out.


Three thirty, I look in the frig like a glance at the morgue

I play jazz on organ and in pews
I plays blues, three proofs darker 
than you could ever drink or wallow

Space and The Mystic

Space on the tongue is taste
In the mind, it is thought
In the heart it is love

Nun Abigail lives on a cliff
Below her, caravans trade in silk
Heroics of war gory are fought

Age has dimmed my lady's eyes
She walks by faith, intuition and signs
Faith is the distance, the space to God

21

As when you turned 19
and I a hearty 27
throw a leg upon my lap
Your weight of woman
again, I want to feel.

I'll do your feet until you snore
What's that you say, I missed a toe?
A little more around the heel
How old you are that you're so slick
80?  For me you're still 21

Thou Shalt Not

Thou shalt not limit neutrons
Possibilities trillions
Take a finger tip, for example.

Your cells map the Universe.
Don't you see,
you are the perfect hybrid?


Reality and illusion
Magnificent crossword puzzle
Sumptuous movable  endless feast.