Monthly Archives: December 2011

If You’d Been a Lady, I Would Not Have Been the Tramp

If you were a car, your high maintenance would drive me crazy.

If our love was a marathon, you didn’t finish because you were too lazy.

If you were a movie, you’d be a horror show.

If you were an answer you’d be, “I don’t know.”

If you were a director, you’d be Ed Wood.

If we were Rubber Soul, you’d be Norwegian Wood.

If you were an appendage, you’d be the middle finger.

If you were Van Halen, it would be without David Lee Roth as singer.

If we were a decade of Yankees baseball, we’d be the 1980s.

If we were a smile, you’d be the cavities.

If your beauty was a boxer, you’d knock me out.

If your word was a sure bet, you’d be sure to throw the bout.

If you were a diamond, you’d have blood on you.

If you were a place to meet wildlife, you’d be the bars at the freakin zoo.

If your word was your bond, it would be George Lazenby.

If your love was an awards show, it would be the Day Time Emmys.

If our relationship was a holiday, it would be Memorial Day.

If homosexuality was caused by hetero trauma, you’d make me gay.

If you were an Amendment, you’d take the fifth.

If you were a curveball, I swung and I whiffed.

Hunting Angels 8

“Come on, guys, seriously, my nose is broke here. Got no wheels. Someone drive me to the fucking hospital!”

Again, Dean offered his services. “I said I will take you.”

Glen ignored him. “Come on, guys, I really don’t want to go with a guy who talks that way about my mother.”

Dean was tempted to apologize til he thought Dwayne never apologized for anything. He kept quiet. Clayton, the lead angel spoke up:

“It’d be good for you two to make up in the car. Let him take you. That’s good of him, good thinking, Dwayne. Go with him, Glen, it would be good for everyone.”

Glen knew when Clayton spoke you listened and even followed, so Glen followed Dean out into the parking lot all way to his black mustang where he looked back at the clubhouse, saw no one watching then told Dean to do something to himself that was anatomically impossible. Dean didn’t fight him, glad to be out of the club house and rid of Glen, who stalked off to hail a taxi.

Dean thought it best to go home (Dwayne’s home, he reminded himself) and lay low for a while and get a grip on what to do next. He didn’t have long to think. As soon as he walked through the door, Dwayne’s girlfriend, Kelly, walked right in behind him.

“Where were you- you’re not Dwayne. I didn’t know Dwayne had a twin brother. Where’s Dwayne? Is he here?”


“Where is he?”

“We’re swapping places for awhile.”

“He’s at your place? Why? Why hasn’t he called me? Where’s your place?”


“Why didn’t he call me? Why are you switching?”

“A crazy ex-girlfriend is after me, so, Dwayne agreed to switch with me.”

“Maybe she’ll still think it’s you. I mean you guys look identical.”

“But you could tell the difference.”


“How?” Dean was ready to take notes.

“I don’t know- your smell. Your aura, your-”

“Aura? What do you mean? Explain.”

Kelly was a woman who hated to be commanded to do anything. She took a long pause to tell her boyfriend’s twin to tone down on the orders. When she was ready to speak, she said, “You’re very different, that’s all. You stand differently. And I don’t know you but I bet you’re not a very spiritual man, are you? What’s your name?”


“Your brother’s more soulful.”

Yes, Dean thought, this is Dwayne’s girlfriend. Stubborn, opinionated, talking of spirituality. Next she’ll read me my horoscope.

Kelly had not shut the door coming in. It was left wide open for Glen to walk through, gun drawn, pointed straight at Dean’s head.

“Hello, Dean,” Glen said, smiling through the pain of a broken nose. He had cleaned up most of the blood from his face. Dean kept his arms at his sides cause Glen had never asked him to raise them. Kelly stood quietly trying not to tremble next to him. “Did you think you were going to pass as your brother, my best friend?”

“You were not my brother’s best friend. My brother’s best friend was shot and killed six months ago.”

“You shut the fuck up! You don’t know- I’m a much better friend to your brother than Jackson was! Your brother and me are tight. I knew you’re twins. I knew as soon as I saw you.”

“No you didn’t. When you first saw me you thought you recognized me and called me Dwayne. You all did.”

“Let’s go.” Glen motioned to the door with his gun, a sleek steel .357 magnum.

“Where we going?”

“I gotta show you to the clubhouse.”

“Can I tie my shoelaces first?”


Dean bent over then reached under his left pant leg and with the speed of true gunfighter, pulled the .22 magnum out of his holster and fired two shots straight into Glen’s chest, bursting his heart and lungs.

“Where does Dwayne usually dump the bodies?” Dean asked Kelly who stood opened mouthed above Glen’s leaking dead body.

“Usually?” She asked, stepping away from the growing puddle of blood.

“Yeah, what does he usually do with the bodies?”

“How the hell should I know? I don’t kill people with him. That’s not something we’ve ever shared together. And I am insulted you just did this without asking if I wanted to be involved in a murder.”

“It was self defense. I’m a cop. It’s not murder.”

“Looked like murder to me.”

“He was holding- look, we don’t have time to nit pick over the definition of murder. We got to hide this body. Any ideas?”

“What are you asking me for? I’m not a murderer.”

“I’m not a murderer either.”

“Yes you are. If not, why do you need to hide the body?”

“This is a special case.”

“I’m going before the cops get here.”

“The cops are here. I’m a cop, I just told you.”

“Can I see your badge? Actually, don’t bother, I wouldn’t know a real one from a fake anyway. See ya.”

She turned to go. Dean stepped between Kelly and the door which he locked. Kelly looked at him, feeling faint, wondering why he’d locked the door. “Wait. There’s something you should know,” he said.

When The Words Can’t Even Find Themselves To Say

I see you between the lines of the blinds

through my eyes, through my windows

I miss you with eyes open wide

we are only what we were

when what we were was weeks behind

now you’re tying to sneak by

cloaked in night and time

is there a statute of limitations to a good bye?

Isn’t every good bye taken back at hello?

Still good bye defines us when it’s our last line

spliced between the lines of these blinds

underlying the two words that meant to rhyme and

came up just short.

To Give Light to Death

I’m sitting in the exact same pew the woman who is in the box once sat.

I’m thinking we are not born to mourn

it’s something we get good at.

See the faces of the North Koreans weeping over the body of the man who enslaved their own.

See the faces in these pews whose dry eyes see this as a death to set her free to see the unknown.

It’s in our DNA and RNA and IRS and Death and Taxes taxes us the same way

as we sit waiting for the funeral to start, complaining about the weather and how we’re

starving to death

when real death rests in that box right over there

and Death is just catching its breath

don’t worry, it will awake from its slumber

leave its last lover and slip under covers with others meaning you eventually.

But, till then, fuck Death.

In fact, write it off with a lower case ‘d’

demote death, demoralize death, declaw death

shine so much light into its eyes that death gives birth to life

so death is no longer blind to the need of life

where winter inspires summer vacations

summer inspires winter vacations to locations where the temperature is heaven wrought

for travelers who got what they sought.

The only ones complaining are the people who live there every day

they’re the ones who say it’s too hot.

The Title of the Haiku Shouldn’t Be Longer Than the Haiku Itself

Me, you and haiku

we’re too fragile for limerick

rhyme would destroy us.


I miss your elbows

the rest of you you can keep

give me gentle nudge.


If you were headlines:

Crazy Woman Contagious.

Considered Armed and Crazy.


burning your photo

would give too much heat, light, life

like global warming.


voting incumbent

now over the dark unknown

blind democracy.


the pen’s penumbra

the aftertaste of a dream

waking to this.


so near sighted

see tomorrow forever

and yesterday now.


Department Store Santa Claus

Department store Santa Claus

shows up late and drunk for work.

Department store Santa Claus

is a big fat jolly old jerk.

Department store Santa Claus

slumping in his chair

he’s totally sauced

while children whisper wishes in his ear.

Department store Santa Claus

children sit on his knee one at a time.

Department store Santa Claus

hopes the beard hides the smell of the beer and the rye and the wine.

But children love him unconditionally

children love any old drunk dressed up as Santa Claus.

It reminds him of his ex-wife, he loved her till she

took her make-up off.

Cause children grow up, children stop believing

children grow up and they start seeing him as the drunk that he is.

Throughout life we stop believing

learn how appearance can be deceiving

needing others and lovers to bring our Christmas wishes.

The Love Child Between Insanity and a Cook Book

Photos in cook books taste differently if you’ve tasted the fare.

The map reads differently once you’ve been there.

India is just a yellow looking arrowhead

till you have set foot on her brown earth

and all its life love and monkey headed gods

worship through you


hope and despair read as opposite truths

till you have been there

and hope is despair

in the middle of that air of ocean


on a lifeboat

floating on water you cannot drink

life thirsting for death on the brink

till mind cracked, lips cracked, the madman cracks the lip of the ocean with his hands

trying to imbibe the salty blood of the sea

too far from shore to see the heart of the worldly man is like the worm

on a dung hill, never wanting to be moved

cupping handful after handful of salt water into his mouth

so mad he thinks he’s slaking his thirst

when really he is faking his thirst

feeding his thirst


Why I Can’t Kiss You

This circle has no center, no radius, nor diameter

enlightened by a force that moves faster than the both of us

a universe salted with suns to stop the planets

from getting too close and imploding

destroying themselves with such a kiss.

No pressure,

but this is very much how I feel when I am close to you.

Remembering To Forget

One of those nights where

the past is stood up by the future

and the now is caught in between

with a present for both

but nobody’s got hands to grasp what wisdom the right now holds.

One of those nights where

you can’t tell the ink from the unlit


and this writer’s left tossing notes down black holes

hearing echoes of new songs played to old memories

remembering there are no new memories

can right now be a memory?

Forgetting you’re in a deja vu

photographing the mirror image of a dream

calling home to a continent you left this morning

and hearing them speaking from tomorrow.

I always ask who won the ballgame so I can go make a big bet

yet tomorrow always seems to know as much as I do.