Saturday, November 20, 2010


shots of my mother,
found upstairs in an old book,
pressed like a red rose.

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many tried to copy
the pout, the breasts, the allure
none chose the despair

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things done and not done
twists and turns and trails of smoke
how things might have been

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It’s done – the deed, oh!
Now she tries to protect you,
"Jack, Jack… I’m waiting."

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unbeknown to her
she would star in a dark tale
sadly her last role

Saturday, November 13, 2010


Eugenicists at
Red Cross dispense life or death
In blood bag lottery

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My eyes are closed tight,
teeth clenched, I hear the doctor,
and a dripping sound.

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Even in these times
Irony of his blood type
Is not lost on us

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a bag of red rum
blood suckers wetting their lips
just b positive

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terribly sorry su
you need your blood so very much
more than we do

Saturday, November 6, 2010


if you see buddha
in the grove of ancient trees
strangle him slowly

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the tree unmindful
slowly embraces Buddha
mindful, he minds not

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Tree stands tall and proud
Roots of Budhism anchored
Firmly to the earth

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In a sun drenched place,
the wilted traveler recalls
Ozymandias

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a quick sniff of blow
still standing the test of time
A god or still high