Honestly,

I hate poetry
Because it keeps me up nights
Sweat-stained and wild-eyed.

There is truth in them there lines
To be parsed and plodded fine.

Middlemay

It is ninety-two
tonight in Minnesota.

The pepper plants reach
for heat like wetted clothes,
I long for coke and chunked ice.

It Was Never Really About Perez

This is the last time
I will write about Perez.
No more will I think
of his blood pooled red. Of his
unnatural death. Of mine.

Eulogy

Kentucky meditation:
Bluegrass, cardinal, opaque
Bourbon glass ice-filled

Honeysuckle rosebuds race
A murder of crooked crows

After the Party

Midnight mascara
Juleps mint and saccharin
Struggle swipe and smart

I blame the bossa nova
I blame ten million roses.

Talisman

I find it luckless
Adan Fabian Perez
was not carrying

a doll from Guatemala
to shield him from his worries.

Rhymin' and Stealin'

"four and three and two
and one, and when i'm on the
mic, the suckers run..."

eighties battle rap haikus
from the buddhist mca

1 in 1677

For the moment let's
Forget nearly seventeen
Hundred violent
Deaths occurred on Saturday.

And Sunday. And Monday. And...

Chronicle of a Death Untold

The world unravels
after blue ribbons, whiskey
chasers, and Cuban

cigars.  The rest of the night
blurs to daylight save for one.

I'll Have Another

Last night a middle
aged man was found dead behind
a Derby barn.

There was foul play--of course there was--
and mint juleps and large hats.

Race Day

It's only fitting
that on Cinco de Mayo
the derby winner
was steered by a Mexican
and named I'll Have Another.

No Mas

Tonight the Yankees
will not pitch Mariano
no matter the score.

And MCA won't get no
sleep til Brooklyn anymore.

Off

Tonight I'm misplaced,
soaked in the sweat of early May,
girded by silence,

the Buddha beads wrapped around
my wrist too loose to do good.

Tornado Sirens

Spring hail sounds sharply
The sun slumbers in the west
Eyes survey skyward

May brings wanton violence
To unhurried Midwest towns

The Problem in Leonardo's Basement

Water shortages
in the Middle East, Southeast
Asia, and Northern
Africa make fresh water
terrorism more plausible.

Nineteen Months from Whole Cloth

At eight thirty three
a baby cried. At thirty four
another followed.

Now--nineteen months from whole cloth-- 
you've woven untold tall tales.