SEA URCHIN

Cool as the moon—
So many white mares
(Tranquillitatis, Fecunditatis, Nectaris, Serenetatis)
There—Yet tempest tossed:
The Sea of Cold, The Sea of Crises, The Sea of Waves.

*

Old, wrinkled, beat on.
A book with two pages—
I memorize, engrossed,
With my tongue.

*

Sea Urchin
Unkempt
Unruly
Wobblesome uni—
You pacific hedgehog you.

*

I tried listening to you.
Picture that.
You—stoic as a seashell.
What made me think I’d hear a roar?

*

Once
On a farm
Down south
A cow licked me.
It was like that.

*

An elephant.
Its forehead.
The sweat there.
Its odor.
Your bag, my trunk.

Α ∞◊ ♣ § ♥ ♦ ∞ Ω

Hello, Friends—

Turn off your machine. Be outside.

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JERK OFF

I would give my fourth right arm
To make love with you, Sue.

S’wat all the other squids say, Norm.
Find s’mother calamari to cling to.

Let’s photoluminesce.
Let’s our tentacles coalesce.

G’wan ‘n’ grab me some herring.
‘N’ stop all your fancy declaring.

O, my cuddlely cuddlefish,
Your mantle cavity’s all I wish.

You wish. Go fish.
Whadda ya some kind of swish?

Pink and mauve flutter my fins
Pulsating with a biolight within.

Yeah.
Take ya spermatophoric gland,
Go crawl up on high dry land.

Oh, my lands! My fourth right hand!
My hectocotylus has come unloosed!
Here’s my packet for your jacket!
Into you I goose, goose, goose!

O, you brute, you rubbery beast!
I wish I were deep-sea deceased!
I’d say you’ve given me the very least—
Your thingy-thing has come unpieced!

It’s in. It’s done. My tip’s detached.
So, Suzy, with dispatch,
Just you gestate! Hatch my batch!

Α ∞◊ ♣ § ♥ ♦ ∞ Ω

Hello, Constant Readers—

Go outside. Feel a new leaf.

Α ∞◊ ♣ § ♥ ♦ ∞ Ω

BAT

Consider the bat:
Where he is at—
Upside down
But never a frown.
Informal, the bat
Never a hat
Or silk cravat
Hang in the way
Of his riscavey soirées.
He dines on fine gnats
Rat-a-tat-tat!
Just follow the fast cloud
To be with the bat crowd.
With kinfolk he huddles
In roofy fur puddles—
No ermines or minks,
Just bat furs, I thinks.
How to describe
This party bizarre,
This swinging sensation
In clammy locations?
Pick up the vibes
Use echolocation,
Radar-ar-ar.
Don’t be leery,
Follow this theory—
Home in, hang on,
Drop guano.

Α ∞◊ ♣ § ♥ ♦ ∞ Ω

Hello Again, Friends—

I know this will be painful for you, but, please—see "Fitna" and watch every last second of it.

Α ∞◊ ♣ § ♥ ♦ ∞ Ω

IMMEMORIOWL

I glimpsed two mating owls
A glimpstant after they caught peeping me.
Away they wide winged through treetops thick
For more keen preening and hoo-hoo-hooings.
When with zesty nesty egg lust they ruffle hot
These wise woods ones turn foul fowls.
Bird watchers know they grow territoriowl
About the shy high spot where their love squats.
They glower, dive on joggers, walkers, tots
With talons slashing quite an awfowl lot.
Such tempermentowls!
But I cannot condemn them or be too judgementowl.
Their love is lasting, transcendentowl,
Not the least flighty or experimentowl.
For wee owlets need far-sighted parentowl
Guides to pass on feathery fundamentowls.
When after many harvest moons have gone gentowl
Our paired off preds make no jealous flap
To the sunset they mousy muffled fade,
Laying antique beaks on each other’s cheek
To the end, friends, ever sentimentowl.

Α ∞◊ ♣ § ♥ ♦ ∞ Ω

Another week, another poem.

Did you know that in Tibet you can be put in jail for three years for telling a tall tale?

True.

I would be in jail for a long time if I lived in Tibet, so—maybe—would you.

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WANDA THE IGUANA

I met an iguana named Wanda.
For her I felt fairly fond of.
We smoked marijuana.
I went to Nirvana.
But manana, I saw her appeal
Wasn’t real, for Wanda
Was really a heel, a monster,
A reptilian man-eating pirana.
Now I really don’t wanna with Wanda.

Α ∞◊ ♣ § ♥ ♦ ∞ Ω

Sometimes people ask me what a Poem of mind means. And sometimes I don't know. I just don't. I do, however, want to explain this week's new poem—"Da Dachshund." It expresses the feelings of the people of France towards the boche.

Until next week, this is what comes out of my caboche.

Until then, farewell, and Vive la France! The U.S.A., too.

Please pray to whatever God or Gods you believe in, especially to deliver the people of Tibet from monstrous oppression.

Α ∞◊ ♣ § ♥ ♦ ∞ Ω

DA DACHSHUND

Dere vunce vas a dachshund name Fred
Who loved da hide under mein bed.
   I took out da stick,
   Und I give him a lick,
Und dat Hun lost da hide off his head.

Α ∞◊ ♣ § ♥ ♦ ∞ Ω

TICK, TICK, TICK

O, the tricks of the ticks in sticks,
Some plump as black olives, others mere mites
So small that one might sail down your pipe.
Who knows all the tricks of all of the ticks in the sticks,
The tick tricks in the Transvaal and Transylvania
And in the Gobi and on cute panda bears
Or even hiding in unwashed underwears.
To be the master of the lore of ticks—
The mysteriously monickered family Ixodidae,
Scutum shell sclerotized shield of classic renown—
Under whose heel-proof protection they crawl all around.
Let us not forget—Arrgh!—the family argasidae
To a one soft, squishy, shy, and ever so sly.

A hex on ticks and the bugs that they bear
And so nippingly hungrily so want to share.
Tularemia makes victims screamier. 
Query Fever’s the queeriest, so eerie its woe,
Believe me, you don’t want to know.
The lingering Lyme, a disease sublime,
Is favored by poets who need easy rhymes.
Anaplasmosis could cause a psychosis.
Human Granulocytic Monocytic Ehrlichiosis?
Gooey death’s the gruesome prognosis.
Relapsing Fever means sudden collapsing
And sufferers’ life spans abruptly elapsing.
Then come famed fevers that go by place names:
Crimean-Congo Hemorrhagic so tragic causes
Blood in buckets to pour without pauses
From victims’ noses, toeses,
Even males’ hoses where urine should flowses.
Nantucket Fever, a slaying whale of a ride,
Makes one say, while crying inside,
“O, rhymes with Nantucket! Oh my”
And crawl off to clam up and die.
Rocky Mountain Fever hits the skull like a cleaver
And will in God make its victims’ believers.
T. Rex is gone, to extinction acquiesced.
But ticks? Their caress timeless, they persevere.
Perhaps even now one sips in your ear.