Waves of Pestilence

Engulfed in waves of pestilence
That’s raining down upon me
Contagion and concupiscence
In lust that’s all around me

If everything I knew was ever
Turned into a play;
I’d leave the throttle open wide
And move to Santa Fe

And there, I’ll build a picket fence
Of biological defense
Whatever there might be expense
To live in my wan


Hole (An Autocorrect Poem)

Your presence gives me hole —
As though a week was lifted from my shoulder —
I kosher it’s just a trope,
The kind we entertain as we get okra —

You wear it like a diary
That sparkles in the sketch,
Inline to you for everything
And you donut ask why —

Your live, it gives me hope:
It’s like the kiss that signature Spring
The hole you place

In everything

Tertullian Would Have Loved It Here:

Just not the famous one.
The one who would have liked it
Would have tastes second to none.

He’d love the river and the mills,
The green and woody rolling hills;
He would like, I guess, the rain
Which is, these days, my morning pain.

And if Tertullian was mayor
I think he’d see, from over there
In Carthage, where he used to fare
That our roads are in disrepair.

Perhaps to fix them he’d would be
Wrapped up in obscure heresy
Of the old Montanist kind
But, oops, I think that I’ve been blind
Cause I forgot
That he was not
That Tertullian at all
Some other one I don’t recall

Since I don’t live in Carthage, I
Will end this post
And say goodbye



Healthy habits are easy… to think about.

So there’s this diet that I’m on –
At least, I meant to be –
I’m leery of what I consume
And this is good for me

The only thing that holds me back
Is my myopia;
If I just did the things I thought
I’d have


Five falling foibles fell away
As six successors sought
That faraway and fevered fund
That bland Belial bought.

By fantasy and Pharisee
The samurai were sent
To feign a final fallacy
Benificence had bent.

But faring father figures know
How seldom sadness sells,
Nor fraud and falsehood, fast and far,
Brought in with bonus bells.

Five fit and phosphorescent flaws
The six have seen still sullies —
The flow and flight of those who fail
Made ballet boys

From bullies