If I Had a Hammer


Where was I

While I was there

For everything that ever happened in my life?

As if you could or should


Ask me for answers.

Maybe they gave you the wrong questions?

Maybe you misheard them,

Or were so fucked up yourself


As to encompass non compos mentis?

Was it the sunshine, Meursault,

That burned your vision blind

When you finally saw the light?


No worries,

It’s been know to happen.

Just keep sharpening your hammer

By beating a rhythm on the bars.


Untitled 10/26/16a


I need a haircut.

And a new job.

I’ve taken to skipping breakfast, too.

Coffee fills me up.


On the way to work

I see kids huddle together at the bus stop.

I feel sorry for them.

They want to grow up.


I so want to roll down my window and yell,

“Just ride your bikes, play in cricks

And run home to warm dinners,

Quick, while there’s still time!”


We used to jump the crick a la Evel Knievel,

Plastic football helmets on our heads,

Spangled streamers trailing from handlebars.

Come to think of it, we skipped breakfast then, too.

Cricket in a Locked Room


I’m a cricket locked in a room.

Who’s tired of metaphor,

Analogy and allegory.

I’m a cricket locked in a room.


If I could be anything other than what I am

I would still be a cricket because that’s all I know

And I don’t want to spend my time learning

To be something other than what I’m not.


Though if I could I would

Be a cricket in a wide open field

At dusk with the earthy smell

Rising up with the heat at the end of the day.


Running one wing across the other like a violin.

Oops! Sorry, for the analogy

But what do you want from me?

I’m a cricket locked in a room.



Some Zeroes


The world moves fastly

And there’s so much

To not to know

Like zero sum


What is the zero sum?

Is it a game?

Is it an (empty set)?

Is it gobbledygook?


We make our own world, folks

But we all have to live in it.

Them, I mean. Worlds.

So maybe that’s what


Where how who why

We’re heading to there?

Makes enough sense to me

To just tip tap type it out.

Tape Delay / Iteration #1

Tape Delay / Iteration #1 

We woke up that morning, as usual. 

Our eyelids flapping like unglued envelopes in a dust bowl. 

We vowed to make it the best day ever. 
We were assigned the task of claiming a clump of land AND raising it up the flag pole.

Orders were orders. 

HQ was crazy. 
Kowalski said that that was enough for him, took out his Swiss Army knife and cut the cord. 

Gone from us forever we wondered if he had ever been with us to begin with. 

It was that kind of war. 
Stinky Rabinowitz, our chaplain, scattered some Oreos on the bunker floor. 

When it hit us that we were our own Saviors tears coagulated into resolve. 

Fair to middling coats were sutured together into Greatcoats. 
Escaping the realm of pure imagination we met the brown children at the bus stop. 

They were on their way to decaying schools filled with empty swimming pools. 

We dissuaded Jamerson from adopting one as our “mascot.” 
His heart was in the right place but it often breached the dyke. 

This gave everyone second and third thoughts. 

We had no time for fourths as the Cock Had Crowed. 
Why were we fighting? 

Who were we fighting? 

How were we fighting? 
It would all be revealed when we slaked our thirsts at the Lethe, 

Flags darkened the sky and sullen clomps of terra firma dropped on our baseball caps 

Like fat fingers of an impatient businessman drumming a cherry oak conference table.