Poetry

Accommodating a Modern Shape Shifter

I leaned downstream

overcoming

the odd snag where

pools would form

comfortable if slippery

twisting reformed algae,

I think or mud.

Good for everything

to live like this

the great joining in.

Commitment.

Other streams yes,

also conformist imagery

having previously sent

out affectations like scouts

to look for the sea.

The Virile Aspersions of an Uncorrected Chorus

The sun shone like a portal

vacillating in Medusa's anus.

My head had been forced into a porta-potty's

urinal demonstratively and without tact.

The future presented itself differently

since considering these personal philosophies

written on the thin blue plastic walls.

Such rendezvous were becoming quite popular.

References to the summer solstice appearing

daily in typically remote locations.

A revised calendar expressed in felt tip pen

informing whomsoever of pending events.

I had strolled from town to observe this phenomena, 

stood again then sat again within context.

Not a soul was holding forth with any accuracy.

I lacked the inclination to register a complaint

despite a speculatively unfortuitous arrival,

as deference deserved was paid to The Law.

The Narcolepsy Experiments

Since his last debacle,

Van Winkle had been relegated

to a small comfortable room

in what remained of The

Vestibule Of Participation.

The sponge bath girls, Trieste & Tanya

were instructed to go easy.

Forehead diodes ultravioletly adept

floating red lights with some sauce.

Too much stimulus, previously,

shook Van Winkle's resolve

until his bacteria coalesced

within a huge periscope of hope.

Getting him back to sleep

required unpaid overtime &

the continuous threat of unionization.

"Open up your Ya Ya, Mama!"

Inspirational in our urgent denial

of such unnecessary loquacity.

Some Effective Procedures for the Polemic

Smelling my hands I

seem to have missed a spot.

Our neighbor not unhandy

observes, swoops down.

There is her knock at the door.Eyes darting every which way,

she displays yellow haired arrogance.

I offer to shake her hand

pleasing the gods that confuse us.

She demurs, executes a fist bump.

Perhaps a shoulder pat?

She rolls like a wrestler away,

seeks out my wife of the moment.

I allude to adjustments, let me.

They are talking in the cellar

sound transferred indulgence.

Forebodings, rumors of revolt.

I wash my hands again

& climb up into the loft.

Here I know the mice will be

polite if not shyly accepting. 

The Uncertainty of Inclination

On the way to a concert

stopped at my favorite bistro,

there in a corner nook

was the rock god himself.

Smiling, he motioned me to approach

where he sat with a young child.

I noticed something very odd,

a tree branch growing from the child's head.

The rock god explained,

it was a malady common to their children.

Long isolation in dark forests

was prescribed sometimes for years,

preferably northern European

something to do with the soil.

How was it I, a daily reader of the NY TIMES,

had never heard of this phenomena?

I experienced a sudden bout of ennui,

made my excuses then departed.

The great man was still smiling

working on the bands song selection.

The child sipped from a cup of green tea.