100 Monkeys Typing in a Locked Room

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Some folks finish a Great American Novel

And wonder what the movie will be like.

I wonder why are dogs “domesticated”

But can’t make my bed?

 

Too often the guts of the story

Are like the middle of a doughnut

A great raconteur once declaimed.

Opposable thumbs

 

Are where it went wrong I say.

Besides, no one hitchhikes anymore,

Where is there to hitch a hike to

That hasn’t been mapped?

 

If there’s a God in Heaven

The thumbs will take care of themselves.

The Great American Novel?

I’m not so sure about…

Busted Fences Like Broken Teeth

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Willy Nilly is a good bloke

But I got to stop following him round.

Like last night

I woke up this morning

 

To a busted fence out back

Like someone took a beer bottle

To an old man’s weathered smile

Only to realize

 

That that old man was

Someone very very close to me.

And I know Will

He didn’t mean it

 

But just the same

When I picked up the splintered wood

Like knocked over tombstones

Will, he was nowhere to be found.

Landscape w/Figure

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Practicing Metta is the opposite of picking and choosing. Picking and choosing is evaluating and establishing a hierarchy. One vs. another. Terrorists pick and choose. There should be no ladder. Only a horizon. With a ladder someone is above or below you. On the horizon there are people to your left, right and all around. A ladder is a straight line. The horizon may look like a ladder fallen on its side when it is really a circle. A circle holds more than a straight line. But the choice is ours.

I Bought a Ticket 0n a Vanishing Airline

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Does the dog know

The size of the ocean

In which he or she swims?

One never knows.

 

They don’t talk.

Some take to it

Like a cat to a side-car

Their noses pinching the breeze.

 

See, it’s like their tv

Someone says to me

As I exhale good thoughts

Into my water wings

 

And head down to the hotel pool.

Thoughts crowd my head

Like cotton candy in a coal mine

Silent with birdsong.

Over Texas

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In the petri dish

Of economy class

A woman sleeps sick

Next to me

Unaware of the Charles Simic poems I’ve read

Or how out of

The corner of my eye

I watch her breast heave and sigh

Fat hands coupled over the slack buckle

A scarf covering her mouth like a fashionable thief

She’s blond

But heavier than I like

What is that warmth like?

Like a child sent to bed with a fever?

I’ll never know…

We land in Houston in twenty minutes…

3/16/16

3/15/16

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Depression taught me how to be alone. It doesn’t always feel good but you know inherently what it is after a while if you make it that far and it doesn’t always sit well with you but imagine folks who don’t know how to be alone or can’t accept loneliness as part of their lives or who need constant stimulation and attention to stave off what is just denial of their own humanity because as much as we’d all like to accentuate the positive and pick our spots I think we’re most human experiencing the gamut, the full spectrum of emotions since sometimes the black dog bites you in the ass and sometimes he licks your face because, you know, maybe he wasn’t feeling too hot either.