Wednesday, July 27, 2016


Amoeba Girl as Teen

She used to think she should have been a guy.
Amoeba Boy would’ve been a terror on a date,
Many hands making light work
When it was time to put the moves on a girl.
But then again, her talent came in handy.
Locked your keys in the car?
It isn’t only the Law that has long arms.
Need to spill a drink on someone across the room,
Or spy on your boyfriend?
A.G. is there to help.
Pie-eating contests?
Lay your bets, boys: she’s all over that.

But that was high school.

When she got her consciousness raised in college
The sh*t really hit the vacuole.
She learned about the glass ceiling,
Force feeding of suffragettes,
The sexual imbalance on death row,
And the surprising prevalence of
Unreported domestic violence.
That’s how Amoeba Girl became the Amorphous Avenger,
But that’s another story.

The end

Prev. published in a different form
The Egg Show (chapbook, 2005)


Salt pan snail trails
end with peripatetic stones
just to mess with them
we put them back where they started.
It's hot; we're going back to air-conditioning.
Now how do we get out of this valley?

The stone trails are real....


I have no digital copies of many of my early poems (some typed on a manual typewriter), so I've been entering some of them this week. In between intervals of watching the DNC. Bill Clinton sure can give a speech!

the senator from some little system
way out on a spindly ragged arm
gave the talk of its life
we all agreed, at dinner
it was a creature of excellent taste

Tuesday, July 26, 2016


Sometimes I read something I wrote years ago and I don't remember it in the slightest. The only reason I know I wrote it is that it is on my computer in my folder. For all I know I have multiple personalities and one of the others wrote it. One good thing about not remembering something: you can evaluate it more or less objectively.

Roses are pink
Violets white
I bet there'll be stars
In the sky tonight

I hope that I can soon forget I wrote that one!

New webzine "Altered Reality"

And one of my poems from more than 20 years ago is in it:


Goldfish in My Head

1. The View Outside

Limpid crystals of pellucid thought
in my
Flashing rainbow bands bedazzle on the white-washed walls.
Chatoyant shadows stir within each crystal rhomb,
reflecting jerks and twitches
of my bound and bleeding limbs.

2. Rhyme nor Reason

Chairbound, thought-bound, spellbound--
I ponder pulsing nodes that bud beneath my crown;
Glittering seeds drift rootward
to a fertile bed medullar,
Burrow in my brainstem, root, and leaf, and flower,
Bursting shards of frozen aurum shiver, swim, and stare….

I almost dream,
a snatch between the crystal glares,
(Bewilderment of hue with which my glassy dome is rife.)
Wisps of life, green laughter, cinnamon
and strife.

3. The View Within

Each languid traverse
births a tumult in my head,
Ionic memories are raped to feed the carp I dread,
Memories and fragments, each a shredding snapshot caught,
To nurture bitter lattices of hexacrystal thought,
All self laid to rest in frigid beauty’s bed:
Refracted and reflected--
The goldfish in my head.

First published in “Night Cry,” ~1985, and then "The Conspiracy Unmasked," 1994

Monday, July 25, 2016

Entropy's Eddy

Entropy's Eddy

From the bar,
we drove to the Hall in night’s sable shadow.
In the glare of the headlamps we saw
a blackbird by the roadside dying.
When we arrived at the Hall of Mirrors
we parked and hurried into light and sound.
Elbows akimbo,
we danced,
and time peeled back like an onion.
Oh, we were dazzling that night!
Smoke fled into cigarettes and pipes
and clap followed echo
as we took our bows.
After the show,
we piled into Ellen’s Mercedes
and raced to the bar.
On the way
we saw a bird
fly from a sporty red roadster
and into the waiting arms of a tree.
We drank absinthe and water, and
later we danced again
while the west paled in an early dawn,
and a blackbird cawed on the back porch rail,
speaking to us in time.
A flashy red roadster screeched into the lot,
putting to flight the bird and stopping all the clocks.
Still a while we danced in frozen time,
but the agents of entropy were among us,
and they started it up again.
Soon it was time to leave.
From the bar we drove west to the setting sun
till we came to the Hall of Mirrors
and the night began in earnest.

First published in "The Conspiracy Unmasked," 1994