Not speaking of the mariner Sinbad

But rather the negative behavioral declaration

It being a constant reminder to shun wrongdoing

The superego of monikers

Likely birthed from a spiritual tryst between a Catholic nun and Baptist fundamentalist

Not likely a blood relation of the unreformed Miss Deeds

Or her never married sister, Miss Chiveous


Being useful sounds positive.

But is that useful to others?

Useful to oneself?

A mixture of both?

Is being of use healthy? Depleting? Sustainable? Necessary to live the so-called good life?

Does writing personal truths that register with others, however large or small the number, count as useful?

Or considered a mere wordplay morsel in life’s banquet of importance?

Measure this versus eliminating polio?

Teaching? Is that measured by the gravitas of the curriculum? The changing of lives?

Where does dying in a war to end all wars fit?

Or being a guard at a concentration camp?

Executing the condemned? Ask Jesus.

Only the balm of transcendent loving is forever useful.

The 51st time

— inspired by this prompt: it must have happened to me 50 times

Why me?

Fate? Ordinary human cruelty? A fickle cosmos?

That question will never be answered because I’m not enriching a therapist’s bank account only to be told I must be holding something back or I’m avoiding digging incessantly through my layers of myth and reality in order to excavate my core truths.

I generously accept it will continue. Five minutes ago it happened for the 51st time. Yes, I’m counting although I’m not a glutton.

I have no control over the thoughts and actions of others and that’s okay.

Life could be better but when does enough beauty suffice?

I lack the answer but don’t want this question to be my focus.

There is marzipan to be ravished. Rosé to vanquish. The fragrance of vanilla bean with which to drift away. Melons of many pungent persuasions to be devoured. Delicate jasmine to inhale. The arts to be devoured.  Gelato to be licked.

Pleasure is not my enemy despite the multiple warnings of others.

I surround myself with both symmetry and its contrast and dive into it. I’m living large and my life is good.

But yes, it’s inevitable.

Out of scorn, pity or envy, go ahead yet once more, charge me as fat.

The Versatility of Sh*t


You can shoot the sh*t



not know it

have it for brains

speak it fluently

don’t take it

have it together

get it together

be full of it

blow it up

step in it

have it hit the fan

smoke it

don’t give it

be a dip around it

label it good, bad or sorry

call it heavy

stir it up

get too old for it

ingest it as an imaginary sandwich

experience it as part of a storm

be down for it

sarcastically comment it doesn’t stink

not give a damn about it

say it’s deep

get it done

be up it’s creek minus a paddle

believe it is holy

serve it on a shingle

know it as the last name of Jack

not distinguish it from Shinola

not know it

make it up

have it together

not give a…

pair it with giggles

take none

label it tough

bring it forth or get off the commode


Is compromise a major catastrophe?

a minor loss?

a dreaded draw?

a cloak of shame?

a bruised and tattered valentine?

shattering or soothing?

a clumsy tango?

evidence of better angels?

an orchestra with revolving conductors?

the art of finding ‘less’ attractive?

the launch of something greater than ourselves?

a calorie-less dessert?

a greater vision?

who’s keeping score?

all, some or none?

— inspired by a poetry writing class prompt about compromise