Amplitude

Emptiest of absence
is companionship all there,
mere displacement of the air.
When touch dislocates touch,
mutual's more despair.

Who Needs It?

In reality, love is seldom.

In reality, backs are turned.

In reality, we need strangers.

In reality, they're too strange.

In reality, we all matter.

In reality, who cares?

In reality, blood is cheap.

In reality, carbon's dear.

In reality, the world's a wallow.

In reality, it's our world.

Bleep reality...

At least that's one way to get laid.

Me, Perimiterred

Falstaffian girth
height of Napoleon.
A brain blown-apart
(to err is aeolean)
Full measure of mirth
and five parts petroleum
will sing for a lark,
(to air is melodian):
If such is my worth,
I prostrate linoleum.

You Should Have Been There

Jack's horn folded space and time out of sight.
Glances. This doesn't happen at Jack's.
We love the man dearly,
but really, he's a bit—
his Place never where
till this unexpected flight
when at once we all knew, this is—
just not where "at" was, no not quite.
Some higher dimension of there and back
a Hobbit's tale rabbit hole journey
into unparalleled worlds of bluesy night.
Himself on the horn had never known grace
till by some blessed knack—
for once then something—
notes twirled a corner not there,
left a smile in the air like a Cheshire cat:
the night square Jack Horner riffed a tesseract!

Bottoms Up

There was a fat ocean of oil,
below that the fishermen toil.
We probed it for riches,
and now, like the fishes,
it's floating atop the sea's roil.

Prelude to a Wake

When I have drunk the English language dry,
Gaelic, Greek, and what beside,
and all is sand, save Finnegan:
Then, I may be worthy of it.
Till then, I have no time for it.

Emily's Way

Is Broad best—for Narrow—
street, needle, view?
Under heart-attack
how draw breath
to sing the bloody logging chains
endlessly dragging?
Bleeding throat
wants a brief line.

Proprieties

Arms are graces to the Fury;

the spinning kick, Terpsichore.

The smile more gleams
that bares more teeth—

'Tis daintiness to use the knife

without the peas.

Network

The loveliest next door
must stand compare to Singapore,
though next door in Singapore
yet somewhere else contest.

The prophet we most know
is dim to so and so—
as thus and such foretold.

At some remove's a there
that overdoes our best—
though here, they say,
is over there's excess.

Request

There was a young twitter, @ilyses,
so fond of a limerick's blisses,
she tweeted one night:
Could you feed my delight?
The answer to which, darling, this is.

Tweet

Now the splinter-right think schism is a patriotic-ism.
They've seceded from their senses. What a bunch of Mensas.
Split, snots, and eat my