The Sound of One Hand Writing

You know the saying that you can’t un-see certain things? The following words, once read, might fall into that category.

I’m still on my John Prine-ish (if that isn’t heresy) binge. Let’s call this a music-less song rather than a poem.

Hopefully, this will be the end of moving in this direction. If not, an intervention, followed by a 12 step group, might be required. Or a shunning.

I got a woodpecker in my pants

some mistake it for a fer-de-lance

it makes my legs sway to and fro

although both my feet flatly say no


I’m stuck with a pair of alligator arms

don’t worry, they’ll do ya no harm

And the eyes I own aren’t the same size

On the beauty way, I’ll win no prize


(Chorus) We have our bodies til death do us part

I think mine was assembled a la carte


My disks are each fully fragmented

still in place, yes, but slightly dented

biting into moon pies makes me giggle

when I get up, my thighs they wiggle


I need to minimize my gluteus max

ain’t all diets a personal sin-tax?

lost count adding up my multiple chins

Let’s call it a maximizing of all my skin


We have our bodies til death do us part

I think mine was assembled a la carte


My nose knows what’s fingerlickin’ good

food tasting should be my livelihood

In my boyhood I was just misunderstood

Not too many spark plugs under my hood


Some call me a friggin’ human hammerhead

poundin’ roofing nails are my butter and bread

my head is now just one huge cranial cavity

my biceps theys inverted but I think its gravity


We have our bodies til death do us part

I think mine was assembled a la carte


You know my toes, they refuse to twinkle

when it come to snorin’ I’m Rip Van Winkle

my pecs been the victim of some kidnapping

I’m a piss poor candidate for chromosome mapping


The few muscles in me are the slow twitch kind

I’m disinclined to ever seek peace of mind

nobodys ever asked me to pee in a cup

cause my human algorithm has never added up


We have our bodies til death do us part

I think mine was assembled a la carte


It was another usual day

Not much in the way of highs nor lows

So how to provoke my desired state of being?

The light turned red, I slowed up and obeyed, first in line to speed off when given a greenie

Then, my perspective on and of the world changed

As the color periwinkle appeared rather than the expected

I was bemused

Should I take it as a sign?

That it is in real life, but what of the metaphorical sense?

Maybe a gentle reminder of the immense beauty that remains unseen in the world?

Another example that modern technology was, yes, once again askew?

Possibly that I should be pursuing all the Peri Winkles listed on eharmony?

My reverie was interrupted by the sounds of horns squawking directly behind me

Being irritated because I was ahead of them was awfully shortsighted

You know, they could go around

I quickly sent out this vibration: ‘relax all, I am having a spiritual moment’

But I didn’t think I was going to get me a witness

A scruffy man appeared at my driver’s side window

He bellowed “are you hard of hearing or just blind bud?”

On my right was a kind-looking woman who knocked and asked “do you need help?”

I turned in her direction, smiled, then hesitantly asked, “do you know your colors?”

The Musical Saviour

Maria birthed herself a baby named Jesús

Jose was pissed: “he don’t resemble me.”

so the kid was an outlier from the start, shunning toys and burro rides

“I’ve got bigger things in store.” he said

And that Jesús did.


“Mamá and papá, I’ve been anointed to think big”

Jose rolled his eyes, Maria just smiled, bringing some to-die-for Holy Mole to the kitchen table.

“My future is way beyond these sands of Sonora.

I am willed to start a mariachi jazz band.

We’ll charge nothing and fill the plazas and bullrings with the sounds of the future.”

“I heard a messiah complex is spreading rapidly,” playfully said Jose. “So be careful, you know there’s no vaccine as yet.”

“Don’t you upset the cartel,” warned Maria. “Pilatin is extremely protective of his gold, myrrh and frankincense trade.”

“Is your plan to live fast, die young and leave a good-looking corpse,” deadpanned Jose.

“Not at all,” said Jesús. “I’m will live forever.”


Jose and Maria tried everything — conversion therapy, military school, a vegan diet, even heavy doses of amplified Lawrence Welk music,

However, Jesús was not to be sorted out.

You believed in him or not. He didn’t need to believe in you.

A calling is a march forward, no slowing, sidestepping, or deadliest of all, explaining.


In succeeding years, Jesús’ trumpet licks sharpened and song lyrics became more dangerous.

The status quo worshipping naysayers still taunted, “hey snowflake, can’t you find a halo that fits?”

However, fans and a few groupies mostly stayed loyal especially when he produced wine and fish before the concerts.

Jesús and Los Discípulos (Juan, Pedro and Pablo) became established.


“Selling what people can’t buy is the worst of all business plan” snorted Jose. “Hire a consultant.”

“I’m a prophet, and not for profit,” answered Jesús.

“Let’s be inclusive and be both,” quipped a light-skinned hanger-on from Texas nicknamed Joel, who smiled a lot and ate up talk of earthly riches here and now.

Jesús feared the amount of time Joel spent in the company of the moneylenders.


In his 20s, Jesús developed a tick of sorts, visibly shuddering whenever anyone in his company exclaimed, “nailed it.”

Even the best doctors could not reach a diagnosis, much less a cure.

One wizened and elder white-robed physician called for an invasive history-ectomy.

He soon lost his admitting privileges for such heresy.


Jesús sometimes misspoke, despite his great deeds of giving sight to the blind, hearing to the the deaf and helping the lame walk,

As ‘time heals all wounds’ often came out as ‘time wounds all heels’

Many attribute it to a spasm of intermittent dyslexia

But because of this, Jesús lost a fond friend, a foreigner named Achilles, who prided himself on his individuality


The blue shield-toting federales soon began taking a harder look at Jesús

His musical riffs had become incendiary, therefore dangerous, and international

Jesús soon replaced Flavius Fave as Interpol’s Public Enemy #1

His lore morphed into that equaling a union of Pancho Villa and Emiliano Zapata.

Then avant-garde Jesús disappeared

The jazz revolutionist joined the many thousands, especially students, women and campesinos, who vanished forever

But the holy infidel mocked authorities with one last offering

It was a cross with an upside down bebop music scale inscribed

situated at the entrance to a rundown desert amphitheater just outside his hometown

Try co-opting that.

Damming Up Life’s Stream of Consciousness

Maybe this evokes an intermittent John Prine-ish note? A touch of John Callaghan? Possibly Rodney Dangerfield? Ha! Yeah, right. Still rising to becoming a grateful human being.

So please read the following with an imaginary blues riff inserted between each. Or maybe a rim shot.

It might cause traffic to come to a stop and sightseers to gawk

but do wheelchair users ever get challenged to walk the walk?


I feel like a solitary party of one and for that I’m seeking a panacea

But luckless me has never even witnessed the face of Jesus on a tortilla


So if it’s Colonel Mustard in the cloister with an ever-burgeoning cross

doesn’t that make all religious dogma just a clueless albatross?


Imagine the handful Jesus was throughout his early teens?

so why did it take him so long to finally spill the beans?


I bought what was described as Geronimo’s old Cadillac

it actually was a Pontiac from the cheese king Monterey Jack


I’m not sure if I’m Saturday night or Sunday morning

it depends on which Mary Magdalene role I’m performing


How does one become not just proficient but good at suicide?

have a body to subdivide like good old Jekyll and Hyde


Got a ticket the other day from a meter maid named Rita

the judge, he lectured me to read backwards the Bhagavad Vita


My favorite band of all time is Lot’s Wife and the Saltines

with hits like “Nazarene Obscene” and “Peron the Argentine”


Second is Sisyphus and the Unfulfilled Sherpas

known for their ascending and descending aortas


Were the Apostles truly the first and only fight club?

Is it true their ringmaster was none other than Beezlebubb?


I’m training guide dogs for the atrociously empirically impaired

those savantless idiots who believe Norwegians all drive Fjords


The key to staying off the Grim Reaper’s shopping list?

For one, never kiss an unlicensed or practicing proctologist

The Past, the Present and…


Not final thoughts, call them edible words

digest these syllables not as a sermonette

rather a collection of ideas and notions

written hard in mind and put away wet

Evil is, yes, the world’s purest desire

and humans will never break from its twining

it’s a backwater oozing enchanting siren songs

laden with devil hybrids and their beastly strip mining


Long before this nation’s so-called founding

chains were placed heavy across human hearts

call it the original-est of mankind’s sins

the scars on the enslaved in order to tell them apart


Death freighters sailed across the dark seas

Lower in the water, burdened with heavy hate

the ticket-less cargoes bound for King Cotton

timeless auction blocks remain the South’s soulmate


Label them holy shrines or places of the damned

they birthed Wallace, Maddox, Connor and that filth

the reality is there’s a new generation always bidding

the latest now nattily dressed in suits and ties of silk


Oh, come one, come all to the public lynch

it’s a swing and sway of the three-fifths faction

for when it’s a state’s right to maim and then kill

as one doesn’t emancipate with solely a proclamation


Call it an alignment with the status quo gospel

brewed and marinated in feral and fetid DNA

always remember, ‘it’s Mr. James Crow to you boy’

for the genocidal will never stop seeking prey


In a land where Senators Helms and Thurmond held sway

MLK and Medgar Evers bled for the color of their skin

is the right to breathe truly a sign of progress?

Martin and Medgar, they never found room at the inn


Yes, human giants climbed many of the mountaintops

alerting and and warning about fires of five alarm

challenging the ordinary ‘we’ve always done it this way’

battling malignant foes laden with hate to harm


But this ill extends far beyond the southern seceders

to constituents professing kinship with the Golden Rule

but when human innocence is profanely slain

the thirst of all is quenched by the vilest of cesspools


‘no dark-skinned Nazarene is gonna tell me what to do’

the humane algorithm is plainly never to be solved

for grace obviously has a mind of its own

sorry Darwin, no cure will ever exist for the devolved


Sprinting backwards, where hate de jour isn’t a defect

but now rather lauded as a worthwhile feature

Mr. Tangerine Man’s blessed syphilitic spittle

define him as both a con and a sewer


McConnell proffers his unctous, smirking smile

alongside John Roberts lip-synching Pontius Pilate

each succoring up for greater human sacrifice

with a genteel most genuinely counterfeit


Have black lives ever really mattered?

only in the futures market of the enslaved

angels yes, among us there are no better devils

sadism is simply home sweet home for the depraved


With science and facts afire at the stake

and death squads in blue roaming the lands

the latest iteration of absolute no-nothings

strictly defines the party Republican


Jesus arrived at the dusty crossroads

declaring “I’m allergic to all matters of wood,

for the price it isn’t always right,

even in the cause of brotherhood”

Losing Footing

Heading downward isn’t usually associated with anything good

consider the phrase “fall in love”

is this a never-ending nosedive?

what’s are the odds of a soft landing?

can humans tumble upwards?


imaginary phone call #1

Emergency operator: “911, what is the nature of your call?”

Me: “This is more of a precautionary dialup — I have fallen in love but don’t need stitches and I can’t find anything broken.”

Emergency operator: “Did you lose consciousness sir?”

Me: “What?”

Emergency operator: “Have you experienced any difficulty breathing or voluminous sweating?”

Me: “I just want to be on record for the future. Just in case.”

Emergency operator: “So hardly fallen or fallen hardly, can you clarify?”

Me: “Is this some sort of English grammar test?”

Emergency operator: “Sir, might your head be concussed?”

Me: “I beg your pardon. My sweetie and I do not swear in any manner. I am hanging up now.”


imaginary phone call #2

Me: “Thanks for answering Ramona. For the record, I wanted to let you know I have fallen in love but I can’t find anything broken.”

Insurance agent: “That’s good news. Let’s see. You chose to fall in love, correct? None of this predestination babble that is so popular now.”

Me: “Correct.”

Insurance agent: “Okay. Therefore, the timing of your decision actually precludes any coverage. You weren’t in love prior to obtaining your health policy, correct?

Me: “I’m not sure of the exact starting point of, as they say, my downward swoon. I think I was in a very “heavy like” when I took out your policy. Would that make a difference?

Insurance agent: “We cover some pre-existing situations but…”

Me: Could this possibly come under some sort of giddy existential descent? Might that make anything resulting cover-able?

Insurance agent: “Remember your policy is with us and not Nietzsche and Camus Incorporated…


imaginary phone call #3

Me (to my therapist): “My newlywed wife Jenny and I just had a terrible row. She gets so jealous at the smallest thing.”

Therapist: “Give me an example of your conflicts as you know it take two to tango, or even foxtrot.”

Me: “Well, I wanted to go see “Little Women” at the theater…”

Therapist: (interjecting) that’s good, that’s a positive. A shared cultural experience is usually bonding for a relationship.”

Me: “My wife freaked. She accused me of harboring pedophile propensities.”

Therapist: “Uh, remember that Franky Lymon song “Why Do Fools Fall In Love?” Memorize the lyrics. (looking at her watch), Well, well, time flies. You’re two minutes and eighteen seconds appears up. ”


imaginary phone call #4

Me: “I thought we’d be a couple forever. Now, Deb’s dumped me and broken my heart.”

First Buddy: “Two words: duct tape. Wrap on a heavy dose. Works on everything. Your heart’ll be good as new in no time.”

Me: “No, it’s like my heart has been split with a sharp dagger.”

Second Buddy: “Free advice, date a cardiologist gal next.”

Me: (ruefully) “I gave her my heart so freely, certain it would be treated well.”

Second Buddy: “They say possession is 9/10s of the law. Even so, she didn’t steal it. It’s still yours, even if it’s in pieces, right? No small claims court here amigo.

First Buddy: “Get off and stay off Tinder. I’m sure your parents warned you years ago not to play around with any combustible material.

Me: (To the strains of of Jimmy Ruffin’s “What Becomes of the Brokenhearted?) “So what now?”

The buddies in unison: “Find someone who only packs Cupid arrows.”

Understanding differences

Is the diagnosis that we all speak a unique language despite a common vocabulary?

or maybe we have chosen not to hear

We are all Brothers and Sisters from the universal mother

not birthed as enemies

simply baggage handlers

choosers of disparate words

slaves to measuring others

But is it to enlarge boundaries or perpetually be on a red alert mission of counterfeit comfort?

I refuse to accept your toxic folly

You deny my approach

I’m no oracle and neither are you but Enlightenment isn’t insufferable

So which direction nourishes? Which stunts?

Choose amity, or remain safe but decaying inside.