Thursday, December 10, 2015

Poem, With Five Notes

I kind of think it might be nice to have tits.

Like so then, if I'm in bed with a woman, we could suck each other's tits.
That sounds kind of nice.
I think that would be hot.
But it's a slippery slope, I would think: Next I'd probably want long hair and make up and then I'd probably want most of my body hair removed and then, before you know it, I'd want a vagina, and I assume that would mean I wouldn't have a cock anymore, and that would mean that instead of fucking women in the vagina with my cock, I'd be getting fucked in my vagina, with a strap on, because I like women, and even if I had a vagina, I would still want to be fucked by women, not men, which maybe is closed minded of me but there it is.

So probably I shouldn't get tits.
So probably I should stop eating so fucking much,  else I'm gonna get tits.
December 9, 2015

Notes (written December 10, 2015)

Note 1: This poem was inspired by an ad I saw in the subway for breast augmentation surgery. Someone had placed a sticker on the ad which said, "This ad insults women." My first thought was, "Well, couldn't men get breast augmentation surgery, too?" I had six local stops in which to write the poem, which may explain its brevity.

Note 2: For the record though, I do see how ads for breast augmentation surgery insult women. And I suppose this poem could be misconstrued as an insult to women, although that is not my intention. See Note 3.

Note 3: But I do recognize a problem: this poem clearly should be called "Tits." But I don't necessarily like the idea of me having written a poem called "Tits." The Stranglers are one of my favorite bands, but it bothers me that they have a song called "Tits." I don't know the song all that well; it could be perfectly innocuous (as I believe my poem is), but I don't know.

Note 4: I am under no misapprehension that these notes in any way mitigate any offense that may have been caused by my poem. Nor do I believe that I have exonerated myself from the charge of having given offense by acknowledging that I may have caused offense. But I don't believe there is anything offensive or malicious in this poem.

Note 5: Finally, it should be noted that if I were to read this poem in public, I would probably not read these notes, and I probably would say, before reading it, "This poem is called 'Tits'."

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

Six Lost Opportunities

It would be alliterative to say
I had the leftover lo mien for lunch
But I had it for breakfast.

With some editing
"I" could have been a haiku
"II" could have been too. Too bad.

This morning, I thought:
On the way to work, I will look for inspiration in the subway
And had I actually looked, I might have found some.
We maybe could have had, at some point,
A government that truly serves its people
Instead of this.

And don't even get me started
On renewable energy
I mean, come on. Am I right?

Ok, clearly, I've gone astray
It's time to let go and post
Actually, it's well past time.

December 2, 2015

Monday, November 30, 2015


Earplugs, music:
Tuned in, turned on, dropped out:

Good Morning Starshine
Incense and Peppermints
Monday Monday
This could be a psychedelic Monday
Magic carpet subway ride
Even though I’m on the way to work

I could be on a rocket to the fourth dimension
Walking in space
In a boat on a river
Were it not for this ratfucker
Reading this book: Hedge Fund Managers

Which makes me want to punch him in his  face
Which is not mellow or psychedelic or peace and love at all

And it wasn't the music made me change my mind.
It was that he isn't  23 – he’s my age, maybe even older
So maybe a book reviewer or
Desperate business major,  class of ‘92, recently fired, or

He is stardust, he is golden,
He is caught in the devil's bargain

So I didn't punch or spit or scream or cry
But my mellow has been harshed
And I've got to get myself back to the garden.
But too late now: now it's time to make the doughnuts.

November 30, 2015

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

The Sun, Like God

Up before the alarm,  I could feel I had slept long enough
And the inkling of natural light told me it was late enough
So out of bed, into the shower, down the stairs into the sunlight:
Stricken, I turn to see the sun so red, childbirth straining,
Then walked the several steps more to the subway,
Turning two or three times more to witness the quiet of the dawn
Amid the morning traffic clamor.
On the train, she was huge, sleeping,
With one sleeping child to her left, two more to her right.
At Fulton, they got up, and she called to yet another,
"We're getting off!"
A teenage girl, with another child, a boy,
Followed not so closely behind,
And when on the platform the boy went the wrong way,
She yelled, "Where you going? Mom went this way,"
And up the stairs they went as the doors closed, crying.
Next stop, Wall Street. I get out,
Reject a complimentary Journal,
Walk toward the water, right at Delmonico's,
Left onto the little alley, right onto Stone,
And another left into the sun, like God: 
Reflected on the Vietnam memorial,
Reflected in the shining sky, singing,
Reflected in the heart that bears witness.
The world is charged, and charges all who ask.
November 25, 2015