The word “miraculous”
tattooed to her arm
marks her miracle—
how her inertness coalesced
over the matchless, endless eons,
how brilliantly she coalesced

He thinks he’s an angel
sent from the depths to terrorize
Don’t be fooled by this guy,
this so-called “character” method actor
His message is as bad-hearted
as the characters he plays at

When you stand against the sea
the ferocity of the waves so random,
only a fool like you would stand against them
Idiot, go over them or under them
Idiot, when you dance with the ocean
it behooves you to follow her lead


She tried but she just couldn’t cook
Don’t blame her smarts— she wasn’t that dumb
She just couldn’t taste how good food tastes
Only by meticulously following my mother’s recipes
did something she make come out somewhat okay
That filled our stomachs and made her proud

“His head was always covered by a white cap
made of wool in winter, cotton in summer
He wore an apron of pure white leather
which he put over his clothes when he worked
But as he worked constantly
his under clothes never changed”

I learn the hard way but I learn...
These little stains on the vast open shapes of time
Good food, good work, good sex, great music—
What else does a self-conscious,
replicating, carbon and water-based
survival machine want or have a right to want?


A fierce, tiger-like, heavy tension
it’s punishments and penalties...
The golf star is finally chaste and stays
with just one goodly sweetheart
He’s now seen our godly grace and the
hard-worn wisdom of our mediocre ways

And if he curses as he plays
it’s all under his breath so we can’t hear him
Problem is, now that he doesn’t fuck whomever
and won’t cuss at himself to the 18th hole
(and I mean loud for three straight days)
Now that he’s listened to the likes of us

he can’t win his tournaments
He lacks, I think, the excitement
of the alien, the varieties of the feminine,
the ecstasies, the struggles, the insane self-hate,
the self-inflicted ferocity
that once made his golf-game great


These aren’t the questions you ask
when you want answers...
Like superman this child lifts one leg
to 90 degrees and keeps the other leg straight
Each night he falls asleep like that
like an all-powerful godly flyer

He could only deal with those tough souls
who refused to be insulted
Dr, F, his old would-be mentor,
not a kindly man but not horrible
refused to put up with his shenanigans
He criticized some sloppy work

and expected, quite rightly, for him to correct it
He didn’t even know that the idiot quit
It never occurred to him that someone would
throw it all away like that over nothing
Now all the players are dead
and this old tape won’t rewind again


-August 17, 2013-