Occupy Christmas

 

That was some night.  The world went black.

We never got our feelings back
Below the waist. The frost descended.
All of the stars were apprehended,

But not by us. The cars refused
The roads. The birds of prey, confused,
Flew into clouds, and there they stayed.
The householders were sore afraid.

Since mangers would be closed this year,
A sensible wise man would appear
On other stages, baggy pantsed.
And all the stars in Heaven danced.

Body Count

The average of all the dead was 6—

Hundreds of infants and some fogies. Mix

In young adults, a couple spawning males,

And do the math. Disaster never fails

To be absorbed by numbers. Science saves

And sanitizes. Just count up the graves.

Eppur Si Muove

My fellow Americans, I come rehearsed

with lies. I have prepared a tableful
of whoppers for you; if they are consumed,
the presents of your enemies are yours.

Knowledge is numbing. No one talks about
the right and muscle of the full deception.
I bring you what-you-will: turn it around,
read it upside down. It still will be true.

I've decorated it with cloth rosettes.
I've loaded every rift with anecdotes
for which there is no cure. I'll make you sick
with longing never to be undeceived.

The earth is round. The earth is flat. It swings,
it jitterbugs beneath a smoky heaven.
The angels shimmy to be heard at last.
God is because we say so, and he moves

funky, but we are sutured to the spot
provided, swaying, cervically up.
The world is waltzing very, very slowly:
we are because we say so, but we move.

Pleasure Comes In

  

     from These Denver Odes

Pleasure comes in short supply,
grace and favor, bit by bit.
Who promises contrariwise
tells innocently blue-eyed lies,
believing she's believing it,
Philpot. Celinda made me cry

that once, but that was yonks ago.
Today I merely miss some sleep.
If this one tells you you are strong,
and she will love both sweet and long,
that little bit of pride you keep?
Kiss it goodbye. I ought to know.

Ruly, Really

 

You are my sunshine. Break of day,

You rise in the east and move across

The house, setting your sites to match.

Night spreads without a sense of loss.

Though light and heat both fade away,

And parallel lines don't care to meet,

We stoke our own invested heat.

Don't tell me nothing gold can stay.

Don't say a word. Let's wish and watch.

The Autumn of Troy

  

Imagine growing up in Troy,

N.Y., and Helen is your name.

You have no choice, obliged to find

A Menelaus right next door,

Or who'd be spurned? A Joe? A Ted?

I don't think so. In Paris, Mo.,

Abscond with some old mogul's wife,

Hide her behind your stuccoed walls,

Crouching for years and years and years,

Until she has grown hoarse with scorn,

All attitude? The men of Troy

Hector their bonne wives endlessly,

The voice of Nestor wafting in.

This House No Longer

  This appeared in Poetry Proper.

This is a house without chalcedony

Or Andamooka opals, and it deems

Its seizure insecure. Hawks veer away

To overfly somebody else's house.

This house is what it is, is what it is.

You want to meet us? We share a single bath,

Not privacy. Our calendar misquotes

In scarlet letters Make your life sublime

Use Rapid Sands. We never leave the room

For grave emergencies. Our motto is

A tramp stamp on the lady of the house,

Her fine embroidered sacroiliac,

Hunker Down, which seems not to overstate,

And understatement is a way of life.

Why, there is a bone here after all; a mole

Has left his skull, a warrior's helmet toy,

For Spike to crunch and play with. This is a house

Without a porphyry tub or sisal strings

To anchor it, and someday it will leave.