ZanyPlebeian

"Dead Cat's Dead" We used to think that the buffet table was free and that whatever we desired from it was meant to be ours. I used to think that ...

*I apologize*

Ridicule “That’s ridiculous,” she said, and I am wont to agree. Ridicule of the peasant mother, hands grasping the doorframe, sheepishly peering out of her door at her husband and ...

Portrait of a Red-haired Woman Form based on "Portrait of a Lady" by William Carlos Williams Your hair is the spreading of Autumn whose crimson, crooked hand reaches through woods ...

Song of Chief After seeing One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest Laughter is written on the windows—insanity drunk and swinging at night—ornaments on a sad tree—liquor in the hearts of ...

Hellcat I'm a hellcat I write to little children letters about little Christmas angels run over by cars on highways I write about you and how some people would kill ...

Lost In Yours I lost my hand in yours and we walked the same old route, lost my hand like it’s not been lost before, as we spoke of lake ...

Ring Lost on Road I look out and see it’s not dark yet; the patched roads shimmer in falling drizzle afternoon. A single piece of silver falls from my hand ...

Drugged Diatribe Canto I Proud beneath colorful and drab delusions that beckon me from the non-truth that always seems to grow, fungally, on my mind. Harbinger! Harbinger! My mind shouts ...

Pain Come Softly Believe me like you did before the rain, like when with Night we sang the hymn of lost travail. Empirical intents attain the whims of times and ...

Found Poem – Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man p. 79 Half Dublin was witless; circling round the neighbouring square, down sidestreets, a skeleton map in his mind. ...

Charon’s Mis-metered Limerick upon reflecting on the peculiar state of mind created by 2 1/2 hours of sleep My silence of mind is lost, now, dropped into pools of phonographs ...

Ramona Revised To know would be too easy for us. Crying is often spoken too soon; below the skin of anguish lies the flesh of infinite release. The streets of ...

Deborah Come now and judge me, like Deborah before the rain; shadows congregate between us in the hole that separates justice from the just. A fire is lit and burns ...

Only a Lost Child "To betray is to love without choosing," you said as we stood alone at twilight. I only bit the inside of my lip and looked at ...

[untitled] An Experimental Piece “Begin your poem with a quote—it increases the impact and provides excellent voice.” Love is like Macbethweeping over femininebeards. “Who is your audience? Wh

Run to the pound,boy, run It's thereyou'll bewhen you've found it. I'm not clove-hooved It's okay to get close to me--you say Siete Vulcano I say no, no I'm not--volcanoes ...

Flowers on Grave for Father I walked through steaming graveyards, my hands feeling the black flowers as I passed by--there was no sanctuary between me and the spreading fog. There ...

He Walked Among the Unspoiled Rushes He walked among the unspoiled rushes Which lined the shores of sparkling ponds, A free soul, untouched by dirt-covered hands And seen by few ...

[untitled] Once, I walked along the shores of Lake Superior, on the cradled, massaged, thrown & ancient stones, barefoot in April, scarcely a fortnight since Winter's end. The waves were ...

Baby Blue Rosary Fell asleep with my rosary baby blue, tied around a belt loop; not tired—no sleep around— only the lava—the glowing, burning, fiery though soon to be stone ...

[A single sailor walks into a tavern immediately after he landed alone on his ship at port. He has a thick Scotch accent.] Sailor: Give me a shot a'your finest ...

Ode to John Keats Several days after having read "Ode on a Grecian Urn." John Keats nudged my shoulder this morning softly; I grumbled about the hour and looked out ...

(Sorry, double-post. )

Hell is a Place Hell is an over-and-under place; it is fueled with the souls of pilgrims and the tongues of shepherds. The raven crows at twilight for broken water, ...

August Rain She stood alone, silent in the ruins of her own surrender; she breathed plumes of steam in the bitter Monday daybreak; her body radiated to all around. All ...

“the other one” A work in progress She was the ghost of stimulation when I first saw her pass my way; a premonition, thrown here by some divine command. Her ...

The Death of a Dog Watching a puppy grow into a dog is a most rewarding experience. Days fly by; days of catch in the park; days of long autumn ...

Miasma I think: this mire is only made for one— for me, for blood that pulses through my limbs. I watch the fog that leaves all hope undone, and cry, ...