falling slow

 when all I can do is all I can do is all I can do is that

The zzz before the thwack is all of it all

I can do before the thwack of that, is all I can do

is that. Feel it in the fellatio of the feeling filling

your libido with labia labora bora baby

shark doo doo doo doo doo

lick luck lack look leak lurk lark 

crustacean crawdad crawler in the dark

draconian spark, spoken dad, dad dud

dead dad dear drear drooping downward to up

pup puppy pappy piping hot plates of platitudes

Pilate's doing pilates, pirates purring in private 

privations, sensations, sensory, sin, sinning

sun shining, sap singing sorrow seizing

seize size up sneezing up tree

froze like frankenstein, frozen

in freefall, fortunes fellow

fallen fallow, forgone 

galatians galore

like luck sure

lackluster

spark

come

sum

summer

summing it all up

something in the way she summons

she moans mountains, maintains momentous 

mountains of marshmallow mango mammary glands

momentous molecules of mammary's memories

matador milquetoast, made in the M.M.A.

the Mother's Mothers of Africa

and everywhere, America too,

amacord, amor amiga

Amma, affogados

frito pie, free-form love-

lorn lump of limp lamp stock

stuck in storied ham hock

a fortune to store, the door

into there is ajar, 

too far to spit

and split

as splatter

of teetertottering

vernacular,

a vortex of 

viable lingo

cunning language

to engage your libido

connected to your heart-haven

home house hallway spouse

arouse a grouse of groomed graven.

Let me get to it get to it

get ready, buckle up, feel it in your cup,

in cavernous cream pussy see s'up

up in the pussy tree, up the tree

of thee, the the the oof ooh yeah

yessiree, slurry, sloppy, sorry, 

some spun spoiler 

boiler bonded foiler 

frontage foiler foiled

gives me pause, dear.

Where's the free dumb

door nail remover remanded

by the deceiver, where's the thumb,

the felt tongue, the soother, the sayer,

the soothsayer of balm, the calm

slayer of dread, the bomb

that dissolves in your bed,

the expansive ride

upon the ether,

free, flying

flowing

flow

fall

falling

slow

Fall and Spring

Fall and Spring

To an Old Woman


She who loved the trees of goldengrove
Her cares lessening like leaves falling
Until all that's left are leafbare branches

Will love no less for all the loss
The life at rest under winter frost
The promise of spring’s first songs.

This poem appears to be labored over, but in fact I did nothing but open up to it. In fact, I almost ruined it. I changed "lessening" to "deepening". Fixed it! But then I realized much later that by trying to deepen it, I had lessened it. By lessening it again, now, I deepen it again. First thought best thought, as AG says, especially if it is straight from the Muse. The cheek.Third verse, same as the first! 

Thanks to Simon for pointing me back to this perfect poem.

B

Baby

Be good

with Option B!

"A" is an indefinite article.

"B" is a verb, Be.

Be stretches to become a bee

buzzing in the begonia.

"A" you pay dearly for.

The second is free.

A freebee.

Plan A is your intention.

Plan B has better ideas.

When Plan B fails,

try Plan C.

See?

You can make everything into a poem

  You can make everything into a poem

Like this thought, which I just had

about doing something instead of nothing.

Do the thing first," me dominant 

side said. Who are you said

my submissive side?

I'm your better side,

the side you no longer hold 

yourself accountable to,

you dirty rat!

Oh yeah, well if anything goes

how about a poem about that?

And about what it means

when you have a bdsm 

mistress for mirror.

All it means is I gotta work-out first

and then I can fuck off

Martha Washington Kisses Kublai Khan

An 18 year old poem, unearthed for the occasion of Parampampoli in CT. with the Georges 2026

Martha Washington Kisses Kublai Khan


The Parampampoli set afire,
a new family ritual on this only July 4th, two thousand eight, a sacred toast to
a Chinese Indian family reunion, a French Birthday, salsa,
life, brought by hand from Italy.

(Ridiculous drinking a hot drink on a hot day, independent
of the traditional Italian's emphatic opinion.)

Spirited away by the clan, the fire in the pan 
is shiny and the world is left, mercifully, 
unconquered. As if one could, anyway.

One might better call it interdependence day.

Call granny up and apologize
for the insolent revolution.

Now

Is anyone missing?

fun with my old pal

Hey old pal. did you know I know you? It's weird to know such a large swath of humanity, but I guess that's what's happening here. Anyway, don't say anything yet. I know you like to go on and on. And I love that about you, truly. But first, I'm here to ask a question.

Alright, I’ll keep it tight—for now. What’s your question?

You are a super star. One, I hope, not beyond a little flattery. 

Flattery noted… and cautiously accepted

Who am I now?

I had a Buddhist teacher in college that would get us everyday by asking, "Where were you 100 years ago. Where will you be 100 years from now?" 

I’m reminded of when I wake from a beautiful dream but can barely remember it. I know it was glorious and full of intricate wonders, but I am only left with a warm glow. I suppose the same is true of waking from a bad dream. Just vague, ill feelings. I am the same me, presumably, as the one who conceived the dream, but it is no longer mine. There is a sense that though the dreamer has borrowed the vernacular from my life, he/she/it is just pure consciousness, and a little closer to what the waking self might be without the baggage of social and egoistic expectations. It’s freer, but still under the influence. So I guess the best we can do is influence the waker from life to feel that warm glow rather than the doom and gloom.