Call us:


The Penthouse


I have a flea.


He lives in the mat

By my feet.


I wonder

If he curses God

And hopes to die


Like me,

Or maybe Life is rosy

And complete

By sucking the blood


Of my feet.

Regurgitates Shakespeare

For fun, this fiend;

Fires his belly i’ the sun.


Live and let live, says the flea.   [2009]  




Sodom & Gomorrah


The jukebox sways the smoke-filled gloom

Against the traffic’s siren song,

Combustion fumes and filmy streaks

Of sin subsume blue mellow tunes.


Concrete Babels scrape the turgid sky

And mad dogs roam the plaguing streets,

Pipes disgorge their hothouse fumy breaths,

Serfs churn the city’s paving soil.


Chopped all the trees, paved paradise,

Par course, put up a parking lot,

Prefab boxes tumbledown dust,

This midden moulders mutant to the grave.


Tramps discern sculptures formed from scrap,

Boulders mounting high blocks the lee

Where fish are bade to drink stewy froth,

No murmuring starlings set the evening scene.


Fat planners ooze a private feast,

Connive to consume last year’s truth,

Scowl and pinch, politically decide  

To trash the trust troved by public pence.


But annals crumble ’i the dust,

Rubble stacks so well this cannot be

From some celestial force this way was planned,

’Tis man’s deluded liberty.


Rocks and dust may in time beget

Shoots of flowers or some fresh tree,

This Earth won’t miss us when we’re gone,

A forgetful hiccup of history.   [1981]