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Monday, November 13, 2017




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GARAGE
Purr of the microwave. AM talk of radio
yap of my niece’s Chihuahuas  slam
of sliding glass door.  Echoes of some alien
from an episode of Outer Limits; big glass bowl
of rice peas carrots bits of tuna Michael Medved’s
whiny nasal tone Helicopter blades churning


suburban skies, the unconscious leap of anger,
the drunken duel within a detox brain.  Jetties
of female sexuality like the nylon blonde
in some paperback noir, the helicopter churns,
little boring middle-class
white boy standing beside the hydrant praying
for the world to explode, all this mind-shattering
numbness to end. Anything, a four alarm fire,
an earthquake,  a monster
to leap from father’s chest during dinner,  Anything
A thick red line through this poem.











Monday, November 6, 2017

STATEMENT : Police Headquarters. 10:36 P.M.
  
I just lost it kept slashing and slashing and I don’t give a damn what his fucking family says he deserved it I took that kind of cruelty all my life words like that and kept on turning the other cheek and I couldn’t take it anymore he needed to die someone needed to die I died for all of them all of you for so many years all through school what comes around goes around it’s payback it’s your turn step right up and take a knife in the belly and beyond I just lost it I told you I had to do it, it was deserved that son of a bitch on the street of all places right out there on the street he didn’t know me from Adam he deserved it needed it that big mouth son of a bitch showing off for his friends well you push sometimes you get shoved and he got slashed and they tried pulling me off him and one of them screams out this guy’s crazy and I was I was slashing and jabbing and slashing like a machine like a sewing machine jab jab jab jab you know on and on sewing up his final minutes on this planet I’m not a strong man anymore I’ve been sick but I threw everything into his death I was determined that he was gonna die call it premeditated if you want they said why you carrying that knife around yes you’re right I was determined to defend myself always coming across these big sons of bitches who call me things or push me around or take from me and I said one day you’re going into that little shop and buy a knife and next time some punk tries something you are gonna let the monster out and I did oh man it was sweet it was like he called me that name and I let it go you know and he just kept hammering away and then I could literally hear the scraping of the cage door and the monster was out it was like in slow-mo and it was like I opened up and I was no longer this guy with a face and I was a cave and it just came barreling out of the dark and oh man his face when he saw what was gonna tear him apart and man it happened so fast and I was slamming that blade and I knew I couldn’t stop had to fight like a swimmer you know cutting through currents just stabbing through it and I felt fingers at my wrists and voices like helicopters and I saw his mouth that ugly torn mouth and I knew he was gonna die and he saw a lifetime of rage like a murder of crows descending and I seized the power in my hand and never let it go and their fingers and voices scraped at me and some girl’s voice was screaming and I knew she was screaming into a cell phone cause she was screeching about needing the cops the fucking cops this mother fuckers lost it  gone crazy and I’m laughing oh that’s my favorite part I just fucking lost it and began laughing like a madman and I caught a glimpse of his eyes and when I started laughing oh then the fear really anted up oh he realized we were in a poker tournament and I’d raised him a hell of a lot more than that cruel twisted cowardly mouth of his could ever see or call or raise and then it was over too many hands and too much noise just an onslaught of tones and teeth and tongue and it was like my brain was in a blender round and round and it was all blurring into nothing, nothing but this concoction and then I was here.

  I’ll sign whatever you want I did it and I’m glad I did I avenged that little kid I used to be I avenged all the selves I’ve been through the years I’m glad he’s dead it was about time someone hurt other than me.



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Keyed

Scratching a trail
through the city,
I see a blue car
outside a steakhouse.



Keyed into its paint job:
“mind your business, bitch!”
Jagged silver font
scratched into

the side of someone’s ride
like USDA PRIME CHOICE
stamped onto a nice

thick cut of beef.

Monday, October 30, 2017


Radiance
While waiting in Coronado’s Park,
there appeared a staircase of warmth & light,

there in the middle of a concrete picnic table
& had I been drunk or in a dream


I’d have stared straight up the railing
& would have seen some Victorian Light Being, 

pocket watch & vest, noble woman by his side,
gesturing for me to climb the staircase,


join them for tea.


********************


Dan the Handyman
Dan the Handyman was telling his co-workers about the trauma suffered by fish. The damage done to their jaws by continually being caught and released. His co-workers chuckled at the strangeness of the thought.  Then he talked about the trauma of hunted deer.  How their delicate animal minds could suddenly snap.

“Picture this psychotic deer hauling ass through the fucking mall.  45 miles per hour past obese shoppers, tiny children and grandmothers. Finally they catch the poor beast, sedate it, put it in a hospital for mentally disturbed animals---maybe after a while release it back into the wild. But with a prescription for Prozac.”


That night Dan returned to his rickety mobile home, cracked a beer, thought about his mother. She’d killed herself when he was just 17.  Then he thought about his father, the man had cracked under the strain of 7 children and a wife who was steadily losing touch with reality.  His old man had just started living in the basement one day. Eventually he just faded away like breath on a mirror.

Dan sat there in that rickety mobile home drinking his last Bud Light of the evening, thinking of his mother, father, traumatized fish and unbalanced deer.  Then he smiled to himself as he clicked on Conan O’Brian

This was a good night.

Monday, October 23, 2017




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Beautiful

The most beautiful woman in the world
Is dead
The most beautiful woman in the world
Is dead
The most beautiful woman in the world
Is dead

And all the young men are lost.


The most beautiful woman in the world
Is dead
The most beautiful woman in the world
Is dead
The most beautiful woman in the world
Is dead

And all the young men are lost.

The most beautiful woman in the world
Is lost
The most beautiful woman in the world
Is lost
The most beautiful woman in the world
Is lost

And all the young men are dead. 


*********************

Black Caravan


The angels of exhaustion beg me to lie down.
Upon sealing my eyes I am lifted by the black caravan.
Sometimes gentle hands, sensitive fingers massage a body
that has labored in the fields of the yellow circle. Sometimes
the journey is violent, eyes flickering open, but the angels
of exhaustion whisper reassuring stories, till I again close my eyes.
But no matter the mood of the path, the black caravan always
arrives. Hands raising me up out of the wet blackness of a pit
and into the stinging blaze of the yellow circle and its fields.
Where I must again, work to afford return passage.




Monday, October 16, 2017






The Angel

The ANGEL glanced down,
caught sight of woman.

Not even the miracle
of the universe impressed him


 as much as those smoldering eyes,
those firm ripe breasts,

that promiscuous curve of hip.
He envied that act of climbing

one another’s body after dark,
& as night winds blew,

and bodies ignited,
lust and revolution bubbled

in his magical limbs and loins:
3 pair of wings, 2

for the covering of eyes, while
in the presence of the lord;

and sanctity was forever lost
in the orgasm of envy.


********************


Night

Nights, trying to dream;
the heater singing me to sleep.
Voices of operatic demons
entombed behind plastic ribs.

Civilization exhales
its keyhole of warmth;
heater squatting before me,
like a stunted god,

demonic munchkin.
I shiver in the shadow
of Neanderthal,
project the shadow woman:


pressed against far walls,
political refugee, evading
a searchlight’s fangs;
she is real as fear.

I cry out like Helen Keller:
the chill straightens its spine,
holds its breath;
I too, hold my breath:

like demons caged
by plastic ribs. I await
an answer, a word; exhalations
from a keyhole of warmth.
         



COMING SOON!

  Indeed. -And perhaps if she wasn't the most duplicitous politician who has ever sought the office of President, "it" might have been.
 There has only been one King John of England. Historically, he is regarded as one of the worst, if not the worst, of that kingdom's monarchs. -"Evil John", "Cruel John", "Bad John", "John the Shite", "Slyboots John". He was considered so foul a person that there has never since been nor will there ever be, another King of England who will have or take the name, John.
  I wonder how many new parents are naming their daughters, Hillary?   -Tom Esposito
  





Monday, October 9, 2017




********************








Beast Rise
 The third bottle is usually when the sparkle occurs
when the celestial bodies appear
the third bottle is about when the telescope
is brought down from the attic
and the stargazing begins;


the filter of shadow
becomes overwhelmingly pleasant
like a long hot steaming bath
one you could almost
fall asleep in
a most pleasant way to drown;

and as filter of shadow
begins to command your senses
the lacquered grain of wood
becomes almost overwhelming

that deep dark nut colored moistness
melds with shadow
in a monochromatic paradise
and what light there is becomes crystalline
and time seems to hover like a hummingbird
and you find yourself carried off into a cave
by some kind of beast whose acquaintance
you have made before but in blur of ecstasy.


****************************




 Army of Bitter Men

My name is A-hole.
I lead the army of bitter men.
We’ve been fucked over
by life.
heartless women,
godless corporations.



Roger got fucked over in the divorce, one afternoon
he snatched his daughter off the monkey bars,
made a run for Mexico.

Sid, oh Sid did him one better,
left threatening messages on his wife’s answering machine
and then one weekend smashed through the bay windows,
slashed her throat, slugged down some
demented concoction he referred to as
“a battery acid martini,” in his journal.

Jesus went postal.

We’ve all got a story.  Some have snapped,

some are about half a lit cigarette away.









 Part 1
VC WATER BUFFALO STEALS STUDENT'S HAT



Part 2
VC WATER BUFFALO NOT LAUGHING NOW THAT SHE FINDS OUT THAT SHE IS BEING CHARGED WITH A FELONY

CBS HONCHO HAS SAYS TOO BAD FOR VEGAS CASUALTIES - GETS FIRED


UNKNOWN, D-LIST COMEDY WRITER SAYS IF YOU ARE WHITE, YOU ARE A SHOOTER


WHERE ARE ALL OF THE FEMINISTS AND LIBERALS DEFENDING HARVEY?


NANCY SINATRA SAYS TO KILL ALL NRA MEMBERS! - HER HANDLERS EXPLAIN THE TERM "PARADOXICAL" TO HER AS THEY ESCORT HER BACK TO HER RUBBER ROOM



Michelle Obama Says That Women Who Didn't Vote For Clinton Didn't Follow Their Own Voices 
Editor (Tom Esposito): So, Mrs. Obama, are you saying that you followed your own voice and voted for Clinton when she ran against your husband? Why not just STFU and enjoy retirement.



M. Obama Describes Harvey Weinstein,  “as a wonderful human being, a good friend and just a powerhouse.” Malia Obama, upon exiting the White House and appearing to show an interest in the film industry, took an internship with The Weinstein Company.







Sunday, October 8
Harvey Weinstein Fired From Own Company Due to Massive Amount of Sexual Harassment Charges.
-Fat Fuck Gets Chucked-
Editor (Tom Esposito): Hey, Michelle. I hope your daughter is alright. Hopefully, your "wonderful human being" stayed away from her.


Obviously, she just can't help herself...
M. Obama says,

"People 'Don't Trust Politics' Because Republican Party Is 'All Men, All White"

Editor (Tom Esposito): And, it would appear from her comment that the Democratic Party is all morons and all racist.

                                   
















Monday, October 2, 2017









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                       Send Your Camel to Bed                               His wallet was full of twenties,
and the sun was loitering
like a drug-buddy looking for a loan.

What people there were, were racked
at the eastern side of the bar,
where the pool tables congregated.

As his songs played out, he’d tilt his head,
as though contemplating Sigmund Freud:

                    “Midnight at the Oasis,
                                        send your camel to bed,”


but Rodin,
would have seen right through him;
he was no “Thinker.”

Meanwhile, the pool players
continued racking up laughter, telling
tall & taller tales, sinking the hours
into the pockets, one by one,

never bothering to acknowledge him,
except to replace an empty beer bottle,
and provide change, for more songs,
and he liked it that way.

      
  ********************

   
Perfect Murder

She’d only had a name
a number of weeks;
an unlucky number,
some would later say.

It’d been a difficult birth,
but she’d made it home,
in a Volkswagen Bug;
vintage.


Home to a nursery,
right out of Baby magazine.
And Mommy and Daddy
fed her, and held her,
and closed her door at night.

And in the morning she was dead.
Anguished faces like melting wax,
voices crying “SIDS, SIDS, SIDS,”
and all the while
Dahmer
the cat,

purred.
  





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