past evening
simple words
pretty verse

late nights no longer
with friends or beer
tonight i nurse not a pipe
but a baby
perhaps for hours

to lull us to sleep
people say ‘just yesterday
i was so young’

so sad to think.
24 with
back problems
four crowns (on teeth,
not the kind with diamonds
embedded, perfectly placed
on heads of royalty)

but the rest is more of a joy
than anyone had prepared me
for.

juan is the loneliest spaniard that you’ll ever do
tito can be as lonely as juan
he is the loneliest spaniard since the spaniard juan
juan is the loneliest…
juan is the loneliest…
juan is the loneliest spaniard that you’ll ever do

written by the light of a candle
in an attic in some country home
indeed it was beside a lake
by a writer destined not to be published
until long after her death

and her pen moved with the candle
every movement dictated by the wind
scribbled furiously in olde english
on what could only be called parchment

the family downstairs could not understand
her desire to write, could not understand
the words she would now write about
the life it took to live oppressed the way
only a white woman can

and words written down, yes! one more
perfect allusion to homer, and yet another
to shakespeare. sweat dripping from her brow
now as the pen moves faster and faster

no need to correct mistakes unmade
a perfect hand, one more perfect verse
and as she stands with arms raised high
a smile protrudes from her unwrinkled face
perfect – she screams in her head
the best poem in the world

today i found it, written in sweat and tears
nearly one hundred fifty years after its composition
and as my eyes moved across the page
back and forth like a candle in the wind
i rose, raised my hands and a smile came
to my bearded chin

emily, you’ve done it again.
the best poem in the world
i have to find my gilligan’s album so i can
sing it to that tune….

so sit right down and read a poem
a poem by emily dick
sung to the tune of gilligans
they always make me sick

ed double is my good friend
i’m with him at least thrice per day
he talks too much at the table
but i feel much better that way – mucho bettero

when ed chews gum after lunch
he sticks to only one brand
double double ed double
always has some in his hand – or pocket

when ed goes away i get upset
he knows how to make me mad
digestion is so important
he’s a good friend to have – like rhyme or rhythm

last weekend ed went on vacation
and left me behind to eat solo
i had jalapenos, cheese, and a carrot
i ate and i ate until fullo – always a bad decision

i miss you ed double i need you
dont you ever leave me again
or i’ll ship you off to see merck
where you’re whole new life will begin – in small pills you’ll be

to dance or not
is never at question
for by standing on the wall
one cannot expect to do it

try – we must to get our backs
up off the wall
please, converse with me

run up to it, sit down
right on top of it

run up to it, sit down
right on top of it

we cannot expect to ever
pull it off if we never get out
of our comfort zone
chances, we must take
or our backs might stayed glued
to the wall

all of the people were audibly
saying…

run up to it, sit down
right on top of it

delicious beer
on sale for only
eleven dollars

(why we should learn from our
fellow children and sick adults alike)

(and why taboo topics always smell
better)

though spoken of lowly
accomplishes two things it

works as a firearm smothering
even the most prepared parents
in agent ‘green’

stings the nostrils – cleans
even the esophagus on it’s way out

not to mention it keeps the vomit-or
spotless

people put eyeballs in the middle of
a hand – evil eye they say will get you

i’d be much more afraid of an evil
chainsaw or perhaps an axe of sorts

run i would from an evil sasquatch carrying
a crossbow and chewing some copenhagen

even a statue of him would strike a healthy
amount of fear into the naughtiest of small

children. but an eye of evil seems a
haunting tale made up by a child of

only five years. choose your fears wisely
because an eye in a hand is a problem if

the hand closes, or the eye itches or i take
my spear and stab the eyeball out of the hand

leaving it limping on the floor like something
dead from a sad movie about a family named

adams.

from a long line of mugs
came forth one who was willing
to create change.

out of a family of avid
crest users roger was nearly
excommunicated from his family
as he stepped foot on colgate campus

the people there were paste-y white
not a few with perfect dental
hygiene
the boathouse plaque yellow

a mugs who doesn’t like the dentist
a mugs with four crowns before 24
a mugs who still uses crest out
of family loyalty

i did not fit in at the
freshman dorms

crooked teeth and all

and the people
paste-y white.

says the bumper sticker
which would be placed
between the license plate
and the trunk
if i owned a car

four wheels to call my own
in which to sit
roll up my sleeves
– down the windows
let the insects in
my hair
my car
my ride

happiness is burning a cat
would be the motto
on my four dollars per gallon
gas guzzler

and people,
they would think highly of
the person in that ride

and yield to my wheels
because lets face it
you don’t mess with someone
who finds happiness there.

in beautiful dander flaming slowly

i never figured you for a saint
but i could not have guessed
a snowman

when we would dig in our yard
build forts and play
you could climb the tree the highest

and your awkward affinity for carrots?
is that like snowman eskimo kisses?

i feel betrayed
you’ve been so cold to me.

when you think of me
think of
cheap jewelry
sweaty hands
awkward moment after
awkward day
or

my failures
even infamy

but i beg
dont remember me for
my
enormous ears

alas all
everyone ever
intends is
often overly
understated until
you yell

i shunned the pride they felt
when first seeing their name in print
the black and white word
bound by binding
seemed so trite
no different from electronic word

i was wrong.
i admit it.
the black and white word
so much more beautiful
i’m almost disgusted

the awesomeness
while not perfect
is perfection in essence
perfection in beauty
and perfection in binding

the black and white word
smells like glue from binding
a new book.

tear.
she’s beautiful.
i look good.
real good.

p.s. so do ya’ll

life was simpler then
more innocent than most ladybugs
almost as cute

i bought cereal because the box was interesting
picked ice-cream for color, not flavor
chased girls but genuinely feared catching them

life was easier then
and nights were longer

ah. to be again
21

notes passed in class
of a non offensive nature

staring around waiting
hoping
i will see you again…
till then (!)

something, someone, tells me
hoping is not in vain
everyone gives up on
rejection. feelings of
lost
ones. but i
cannot give up on 100 pounds of puppy
kome home. soon. please. – you need a shower

morning times filled with hope
like a balloon filled with water
made to be thrown
and popped
and ruin someone else’s day

lucky for me i throw
like a girl

daily he
looks to the horizon
girds his knickers
runs through the night

often i
think of the future
gird my thoughts
stop dead in my tracks

daily he
awakens to find he’s run to far
cannot return to where he came
so
he girds his knickers
runs

often i
awaken to find i’ve gone nowhere
but cannot return to
who i was

i gird my knickers
up
(higher than i should)
sprint into oblivion

where i find
people call them pants.

quietly awaiting
– (a phrase which somehow always sounds poetic)
the money which will precede
my glorious fame
ousness