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nothing ban

13 Jun

so have you heard?

about the nothing ban?

from here on out you have to have something

to do, to say, something to show

you can no longer plead that you just

don’t know

when asked to present your papers

those papers had better not be blank

you have to pull back the curtains

and show us what you have hidden away

you may have plenty of nothing

but nothing won’t do

nothing won’t pay the rent

so from here on out you can’t come to court

empty handed

and you can’t just say that you hadn’t heard

about the nothing ban

ignorance is no excuse

oh how she clings

12 Jun

someone’s been sleeping in my bed

someone has been looking over my shoulder

in my most intimate moments

i can feel her breath upon my neck

i can feel her hair fall across my face

as i lie half awake

oh how she clings

as if i were her lifeline, her link

to a place that could no longer be hers

oh so i wonder if it is safe to have

a ghost as a lover

and as i think these thoughts

she clings ever so much tighter


11 Jun

I know Art, boy! do I know Art!

I knew Art back when nobody paid much attention

Art was for dreamers, and misfits

but then, of course, there was Fine Art

whom nobody understood or even wanted to

because Fine Art always had his or her nose up in the air

and looked down upon the uneducated Folk Artist

I knew Art before it was Cool

and now I feel Art is the only thing left

that isn’t fake

It is True because in it’s artifice, it is free of artifice

which makes as much Sense as Anything I can write

about my Good Buddy Art

Art was picked on a lot you know

I had to protect Art from the Bullies

Still do

these worn out pages

10 Jun

really don’t feel like writing a poem


these worn out pages of a life

are hard to read and thinking gives me

a headache

you know the kind of pages i mean

a magazine or newspaper you kept as a keepsake

so the memory of that day would never fade

well, fade it does

and what was important then

means nothing now

really don’t feel like a poem

more like a post it note

tossed in the bin

message received

no need to keep it



nyah nyah nyah nyah!

9 Jun

liar liar pants on fire!

i know you are, but what am i?

they voted for me, not for you

nyah nyah nyah nyah!

the President pulled down his pants

and mooned the Washington press corps

leaving Saturday Night Live open mouthed

with no way to make something crazy even crazier

nyah nyah nyah nyah!

because i am the big wheel of cheese

i am the President, not you!

and you, you’re fired! and you, you’re fired!

get these sign carrying goons out of the room

all of them, crack a few heads, that’s all right

nyah nyah nyah nyah!

i know i am, but what are you?

we are the ones wishing this were truly

make believe



the past

8 Jun

the past may live forever

but it’s different every time you visit

colored by the present

shaped by the future

and always inviting long after it’s gone

except it never really goes away

especially now

it feels like 1963 or 1973 or 1983

all mixed together

we are all time travelers

without a map to guide us

only memories mixed with premonitions

i’m not in a position to judge

7 Jun

i’m not in a position to judge

for i hang suspended from a sycamore tree

planted atop a tower

my glasses tumbled from my face

and my arms ache

the wind is strong and the dust in the air

makes it difficult to breathe

to each side, right and left

my vision is blocked by dark impenetrable walls

far below i hear screams

and the pretty dancing lights of the ambulances

and the police

but up here there is only a painful kind of patience

a difficult position to be in

and not a position from which i can make

an accurate assessment

i’m not in a position to judge

of this i cannot write

6 Jun

i have learned from many long nights

of defending what i had thought were my

deepest beliefs

to have respect for the silence which stands

witness to all our words and deeds

no judgement, no sentence, no execution

only silence

of this i cannot write

but it is here that i find comfort and solace

i have learned from the wells of the deepest despair

to have reverence for that which i cannot fathom

the wellspring of my existence

the self of all selves, the soul of all souls

at least these are my words

written within the comfort of a well lit home

while outside these walls i am afflicted and addicted

given up for dead, if not dead already

but of this i should not, could not, will not write

for i am because i am, i love because that is all there is

after removing all those masks i often wear

the masks of vanity



our lives are sacred

5 Jun

death death death death

death death death

if you repeat the word enough times

it stops being about human beings

and becomes a statistic

every time i pick up the paper

it is drenched in blood

our lives are tender

more tender than any poem could ever

hope to express

our lives are sacred

and so we should stop our shouting

for a moment and pray

silently without words

one life lost is too many

hundreds and millions

of lives lost can only be comprehended

by someone kinder, more forgiving

than ourselves

i guess it’s up to me

4 Jun

i guess it’s up to me to find the light

when all is dark and dangerous

i guess it’s up to me to cheer up

when i feel so devastatingly sad

i guess it’s up to me to brighten the days

for no one else can reach inside my heart

no one else can heal my brain

i guess it’s up to me to forgive and forget

tomorrow is indeed another day

i am so tired of carrying this weight

i guess it’s up to me to let it slide away

i feel so all alone

i always have

i wish i could give my life to someone more capable

and i can’t

i guess it’s up to me