Posts for June 22, 2025 (page 11)

Today, she meant to
go walking and got side-tracked
by all the yard sales.

Then she rushed t’ward home
because she needed to pee,
but she sneezed instead.

мълчание (mǎlchánie)

*** Silence of someone not speaking

1.

couple marry,
couple fight first night

see also definition (n) when there is more noise

2.

the rest is

3.  

PLOTUS for POTUS
For the price
of an L
we get better rallies
      (readings really)
where words withstand
gunshots and mugshots
PLOTUS hasn’t fallen
when woke words walk
     the country
     wide awake
     with pride
candidates on the stump
PLOTUS knocking on doors
his stanzas of hope
like psalms
left in mailboxes
by literary missionaries

PLOTUS for POTUS
Find him incognito
selling fruit at roadside stands
We The People stop
by to buy
biting the cold skins
of national conscience
justice dribbling down our chins
America is a big red apple
a curvaceous pear
black and white grapes
bunched together
exotic fruit ripening
at our border

PLOTUS for POTUS
and revolution ripens
in coffee houses
where PLOTUS reads
     for free
PLOTUS in high heels
PLOTUS of dark skin
PLOTUS’ all-seeing
     almond eyes
PLOTUS loving
     their own sex
reading for free
(free verse of course)
PLOTUS sets our course at last
America remembers

I buried it in the back yard
next to mothers cat
who had hardly any fur left
when she died, a mouse under her paw.

I chewed on that bone, marrow
dried up and cartridge stripped
by teeth, still smelling red and iron,
licking my lips for one last taste.

I took a lesson from the dog
and hid my treasure where I will join it,
sheltering from the oncoming fire 

rising from the desert,
seeking no home,
Scortching everything. 

My dog, buried next to my cat,
beside my bone, smells blood
and barks his warning,
Take cover, everything is red. 

Rose was

the woman

down the road

an ancient with

a constant ring of blue

cigarette smoke leveled about

her round freshly permed head

had the only satellite dish

an uncle bought a VCR

hooked it to our Touch Tune

Magnavox

and we watched VHS tapes

labeled in her blue Bic ink

I watched Han Solo

point his finger at a princess

admired how Chuck Norris

could beat anyone

but Bruce Lee

I’d let the T-120s

spin out Shaggy

as he ran from ghosts

all those fictional men

had just enough parts

to make me think of you

now

sitting in front of my television

I play those same shows

keeps parts of you alive

and I don’t care

how fictional they may be

The girl, fingers roughed from scrubbing blue corridors, sings yesteryears dew.