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Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Not Talking

I know you have pain too
my dear
we all think ours is the worst
and it is
as we die, each one,
of over-consumption
or thirst

I have walked in your shoes
a thousand times in your dreams
It is mine that do not
seem to fit
tied here to this merry-go-round
with cackled faces and bobble-head dolls

I want to scream myself
into my own resurrection
as my chest gives birth
to this unrecognizable thing
with an agonizing heartbeat
the color of gray slime

And you say...
that's nothing,
but you don't talk about
your nightmares...

TC – January 2009

Death of a Hommunculus

Spontaneous joy
he knows not the price paid
for your gentle eagerness
severed here now
like a gentle calf's throat
suspended midair
wide-eyed surprise stamped
like CANCEL across your forehead

that brief moment
of recognition before oblivion
your premature demise
your aborted dance
breath snatched from the expanded lung
before the song could be sung

mirthless dagger
borrowed not born
Hommunculus death
these magical creatures
born from our depths
pain turned manna
their deaths the small deaths
of the soul

blackness shroud and waiting
not infinitely resurrectable this
phoenix - scars made gold -
yours a quick burial
and unceremonious resurrection
while I incubate with warm tears
and whispered prayers
my small still pile
of ash

TC – January 2009

Thursday, January 15, 2009

a matter of convenience

you are something else
puppet master without faith
in the puppets
where the police police the police
and the children are in charge of trouble making
while all of us are walking toward our corpses
it is only a matter of convenience
not to think so
butterfly dust
the rain is also nude
all points of view
face the same direction
the journey toward rebirth
makes me laugh
at trees without trees
in their leaves
I need someone to hold my feet
to keep my mind from leaking
one persona at a time
I am half in half out
of the driver’s seat
with a snake
in a suitcase of smiles

Saturday, January 10, 2009


Sunrise beckons all
"See the new day beginning!"
Entranced by the light...

A riposte, that (repost)

Posix, Unix, Linux, all
passed my way, I dropped the ball,
moving over, (not in the mall)
I dropped into a trunk.

Macs and PCs, machines do crash,
were often ways I made my cash,
my latest venture sometimes a smash,
though sometimes cause a funk.

retail vending in cash flow hell,
(you can't see him? just ring the bell...)
and naysayers call for spendings knell;
they're still buying all the junk.

so when i've lost my sanity
and rumor vine becomes a tree
you'll watch and hear me sing to thee;
"It's really all just bunk!"

Japanese Floats

net suspended spheres
capture and reflect all things
beneath the waters


Monday, January 5, 2009

Poetry Map

Here's an interesting feature on
State-by-state search for poets, writing programs, literary journals & small presses, conferences & festivals, etc.
Check it out!

Sunday, January 4, 2009


Here come the guns:
the automatic assault rifles
the semi~automatic pistols
and the fully automatic aftermath
full of corpses
this cadaver has perfect teeth
I turn my head away
to redirect a headache
but the music is roaring
the cops need a hand
from the criminals
from whom they seem indistinguishable
outside the theater
there is still more theater
guns bullets bombs missiles
and marching bands
the new president promises promises
hedging all bets
vetted is the word we must look up
and remember
applying for unemployment insurance
the mainstream walks through the double doors
bellowing: have you heard the good news?
I froze in the hot air she was full of
waiting for the machine guns I detected
under her overcoat
another berserker I thought
expecting mayhem pell~mell
and I could only wonder if I would ever make it
to the sequel

Friday, January 2, 2009


the wreath on the door across the street
had a firey red tail
which was wind blown and fluttering like a flag gone loco
the cop in the patrol car didn't care
he saw a shadowy figure whose overcoat
was undone while he tried to break the lock
which he was bent over
working fast against the cold
it was the end of everything
and everyone who had muscle was flexing them madly
the tension
even in the middle of the night that happened to be new year's eve
and was conspicuously silent and deserted
was palpable
everyone even the stray dogs were under its spell
as they cowered slinking from shadow to shadow
fear was skin deep
touched off by the merest side glance
of a stranger neighbor or friend
it was as if we all suddenly realized
that we did not trust even our most trusted allies
and only the continuous wars with foreign enemies
all of whom were brown
made any sense and gave us all relief from the iminent
and intimate betrayals that surrounded us
like mine fields