Archive for the '1' Category

A Changing of Movie Star Names

Tuesday, December 18, 2018

Marlon Branlon

Humphrey Bumphrey

Leonaprio DiCaprio

Robert De Nobbert

Mamon Damon

Jimmy Stewmy

Charlie Chaplie

Bratt Pitt

Tonks Hanks

Russell Crowell

Jack Nicholsack

Ephie Murphy

Morgan Frorgan

Liam Neeam

Katherine Hatherine

Will Smill

Samuel L. Jamuel

Robert Dowbert Jubert

Audrey Hepbrey

Gregory Pegory

Human Jackman

• • •

Wright Inverted

Thursday, December 13, 2018

Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
They love each other. They bow shyly as wet swans.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.

• • •

Melania Reminisces

Thursday, December 13, 2018

“We had great
when we
met in 1998,

we started to date,
dated for a long time
before we got married,
we got married,

we had a son—
but we had
great chemistry
from the day one.”

[see the original report]

• • •

Party Instructions

Monday, December 10, 2018

Toss or cast
your hands
into the space
above your head,
and, if possible,
move them in
such a way as
to communicate
to anyone who
happens to
be watching
that you just
aren’t concerned.

• • •

After MacLeish

Thursday, November 1, 2018

Poem is not just thudding, mute medallion;
not just dumb, a token. It’s also the big
CAN’T SORRY to a world of worry that this
isn’t enough this, that I’m that, I’m all,
all. Poem is the no to your yes. Ford Escape
hatch from big marketing. It’s a Juul break
when all you wanted was 10,000 spoons. Nothing cat-
chy, poem is death to all catchy. It’s the garbage
to your carefully cleaned & jerked syntax.

                         Cleaned and shanked.
Filleted. Stripped and hissing on a brazier.

Poems get ya. They know what ya think about.
Know ya secretly hate you, and maybe
not so secretly. Be this thing for a moment.
The tawdry DEAR GOD PLEASE NO when everyone
else nods in unison, “Hey yes, take our photo.
We are in love here. We do nice things now.”
I hate it all, Archibald. This WHAT WE’VE BECOME
when what we had been was cold, a heavy
medal pressed twixt forefinger and thumb.

• • •

An Italian Breeze

Thursday, November 1, 2018

People ask me, So Aaron,
how did you become the world’s
most beautiful man?

I have trouble finding words
to respond: You? Want ME?
To speak on behalf of this or that group?

No, comes the answer, sounding
like a song on an Italian breeze.
No, we just want to know

how you were named #1 man
in the globe when it comes to looks.
Ah, I reply. So this isn’t a spokesperson

request. Mostly what I’m getting now
is requests to be a spokesmodel
for this or that group.

It’s so humbling.
Almost as humbling as the enormous
amount of money I make these days.

• • •

Four Jarheads

Thursday, November 1, 2018

Four jarheads
decided to forge ahead
with some of their crackpot
ideas, and you won’t
believe what happened next
but not because what happened
is so hard to believe
but because you’re cynical.
Just as every nickel
of cigarette and alcohol tax
is a “sin nickel” so also, my
brothers, do you preen
and wince while you disobey
the same God who instilled
in you a sense of wonder
you continue to defy,
and these four marines
stranded in a cave play out
out their oddball drama
on its walls as though, well,
it were okay to deify
the meta meta meta. As though
the Creator-creature relationship
were entirely wily, not
at all smiley. Smileless, that is,
though not at all simile-less.

• • •

Sonnet 35,234

Tuesday, October 16, 2018

Sometimes it begins this way:
Me, sitting in my old leather chair.
You, lying on the floor nearby,
banked in a shaft of pale sunlight,
appearing as a sleeping angel —
yet dead. Napping, rather.
Napping and you are not human,
love, but alien: green-skinned
with elongated head and shimmering,
towering, jet black eyes. When
you speak it sounds like a hundred
women whispering “Bimi, dimi,
bimi, dimi, wimi! Squimi bimi!”
I don’t know what you’re saying,
but I love it and love you though
right now I guess you might be dead.

• • •

Vote Now

Tuesday, October 9, 2018

Democratic participation, per se,
is a panacea for demagoguery?

Not really. “Well, both yes and no,”
adds The Council for the Right to Vote;

“The thing is,” they editorialize,
“It shows we’re in the same boat.”

Shows? More like indicates.
And often, I would wager, lies

about the status of X or Y “voter”
who shows up in a sack suit

and straw boater. These Xs and Ys
might roil the numbers under

Candidate So-and-So’s projected
tally plunder, but what they do not do,

for all this city’s butchery and hoggery,
for its piles of blood-seeping offal—

is cure demagoguery.
So, at the diminishing edge

of the homebound post-game crowd
where there are fewer souls,

enjoin yourself, or your neighbor
at least, to vote. That much, at least.

• • •

Your Child’s Photo

Saturday, October 6, 2018

Your child’s photo on the internet
looks like a photo of a small
wildebeest in the gloaming.

Not to be mean, but your child’s
pate, bald in the backyard sun,
gleams like a frisbee,

and that’s not all: Your children,
in a group shot, look haggard
and unfed. Unified but feckless

the way Cold War Russkies
used to look. In their own semi-
formal way—reckless.

When your daughter was a baby
you posted a shot that said
“Meet Anna Grace!”

The thing I noticed most
was that infant’s face.
She has grown up, however,

in the intervening years.
Her head is now (how’s this
possible?) 30 percent ears.

It’s not you, it’s not
your spouse: Nor even is it
your child. It’s your tendency,

old acquaintance, to post
photographs you should have,
IMHO, just filed.

• • •