Labberneck

Nought

How long can she endure
her own poems? A sheep
in sheep’s clothing, she heaps

simple on simplicity
until the only word
left is ’snout’ but even

that becomes ‘out’ then ‘O’
entitled “Song” then “O”
which itself amounts 0

–perhaps what she’d always
sought–the cipher, or hole,
or empty whoosh like chimes

in the temple heard struck
by sticks–:or that gong hit
by a huge mallet sent

swinging–:a wild soda
can hollowed by her poems’
enormous thirst–:ahhh!

Painter

What a position to put myself,
hanging over the eaves and slapping

paint on what, I couldn’t see–my mother’s
friend’s husband holding on to my ankles.

I didn’t think to ask him him being
my boss for the day why he didn’t hang

his sorry ass off that roof to earn
a buck–whether labor laws allowed

a sixteen-year-old to housepaint–brainless,
what is more to the point, all I wanted

was lunch free, cash, and my ganja pipe full.

Patrick

Homecoming never gets
easier, and each time new heirlooms
you take away like Bibles
deep scarred with family births
and deaths and close relations
struck by snakes

of all things!

Get out!

Blood boils from their venom,
Hell’s death, fire that burns
but never consumes.

It’s not a task for a master
come home from India
nor a saint late of Rome
to cast out these close relations
who’ve gone giddy over fangs.

Quo Vadis

we cowered in the boat’s bottom
and waited for the storm’s passing

God on the water walking toward us
spreading his hands to hide lightning

from our faces
I shook

we were all wracked
and there was no bravery among us

the mind cannot know
what the mind cannot know

Saving the Honour of My God

who would want
to be king know

ing threats stand
around the throne

queen bishop not
that one should

think one’s accom
plices guilty nor

should one look in
to the next square

too deeply as all
are dark then light

at odds then even
ur clerks ur serfs

ur court ur keep
ur chapel ur Lady

is waiting

Secret of Roan Inish

who was snot green
and held up to the moon
who was born in Pisces
with scales on elbows
and webs between fingers
bowlegged from plowing
knees shot from puddling
who’s born on the cusp
of Aquarius with kidneys
afloat and bladder ill at ease
or clogged and pinched
and screaming from stones
unwilling to whiz
who’s wed to the sea
to salmon and kippers
to surf and to turf
whose father caught fish
by wading into rivers
out far out deep
stringers of trout
and redfish clipped
to his boots
who swam along shore
sat in thunder
watched devil rays’
tails swinging
skin on the shingle
liquid dream
green

Sign(s)ngiS

Your snooze button deactivates
your alarm’s sleep function.
Your coffee maker misses its carafe,
and your toaster burns bagels.
Your motorcar’s check engine light
means bad gas or bad computer.
Your office park has no spaces,
and your cube has no depth.
Your brown bag holds a Lean
Pocket and a smoothie.
Your boss wants you to give her
a hand so you can get a leg up.
Your television screens electrons
while your radio beams neocons.
Your Sox can be Red or White,
but your Cubs can’t be Bears.
Your Italian bread’s made in California,
and your Camembert, in Wisconsin.
Your beer bottle isn’t recognized
by the redemption machine.
Your soap on a rope disintegrates
beneath your shower massage.
Your plans are put to bed
at the end of the day.

Somme

just then I died
or passed out
every thing came clear
what to do
how to be
where to go
see?
all these big answers
then I got
kaput
(not haywire
I had wired
but who’s to know)
son