In tightest dress they enter,
Greedy eyes on folded tables
squeeze three sides from every square
(the finest boxclips in their hair).For each fork, two tines
four times each, eight fines reach
those branches low with cashiers;
hiss flat cheers for porridge.“Half an ounce? I’m famished, Trish!”
“Let’s have the check for damages,
and write it off to Revenue.”
(A Pound for Pen and Pence for Pounce)A Festival for Spendthrifts
Suit pockets loom,
Sportcoat seams greedy,
wide-gaping zippers
like incisors filed down
to daggers.Their inset tongues slaver-
drip ichor from folds
of silk-linen.
Raving for that cowhide-
lined parcel.
My Gertrude, when burgling
with outhouse mien,
the pillaging blackguards
work best in the scene.
Take lockpick and blackjack
and tune your garrote
to anything by Cohen
or pale English blokes.
It’s a thick doorjam
so bring a steak knife.
The condo’s own combo
is two-three-four-strife.
Withhold your escape route
until the boat sinks.
Then dole out the specie
‘tween nose-leech* and skinks.
*You probably don’t want to look this up. Trust me on this.
eight tines waiting
shrinking limbs, a healthy waste
stove stares, burners gaze
a door at the side gapes
weak hands grope and release
Abandon slides like a school bus
into their gullets,
fat tastes, taste fat
enameled meat glitters
like shards of rubies
on pink felt
ribboned about by
yellowed pearls
open and close to death
Cacophony: “a fake, with pounding ears.”
A jackhammer for plates
Toothpaste for gears
A gingered tale,
A simper and a lie;
A metal gate is welded,
Swelling sighs.
Brought full about
the boat is listed sold.
And firs on hangers swing
As once foretold.
As anyone who’s everyone should know,
He swings the trees with lanyards as he goes
And topples poles with war saws strung to frogs
A dab of clove and ginger keep him strong
He plays the Spades with his sad friend, the Vole
The furry one who hangs about the knoll.
But bets just sink him deeper under debt
And pepper life with mugwort and regret.
He masters poker’s origami folds
Throws them down with gusto, crane and toad
Bets it all then sets upon the crease
In loss only creation brings him peace.
Gavel, bench and precidents
still wrest the seas from continents,
when tails and wigs and Marmosets
join jackets, pates and Nicoret.
In fuming breach of consequence
The shore returns with confidence
A Coronet dismays
as weeping primates play
their ballad for the tarpits
and upturn all the carpet
Her thoughts a-twist;
recursive, remanding…
she sits, grieves, and reaches
for spools, for those thimbles long-rusted.
A point to the cottoned,
she pulls comprehension
through in zig-zag and tacking
that threatens to slip, but…
when the stitches recede,
the frayed tears in her sleeves
creep up toward closed eyes
to gorge on despond
Panicked the expression
confident distress in
finishing your lesson
never look your best in
Onomatopoeia
growl? no! grr? wait! squeak? ahhh!
frustrated your schema
redefine the data
Stop and Pop Ephedrin
and go go go cingulum
Lips-wide-op en-gate-one
bibo gradale malum
Trite Alliteration
Justice Carroll frowns on
somnambulistic fun
far safer with a gun
The Sub-pedestrian bilge-fills
but finished glad, with cold-chills
a peer review’s the best thrill
so flirt and spread the good will
Wound about like phone cords,
Calling for a change
“Let’s hang the revolution
that broke the older backs,”
and stifle every thought.
Torn about like plastic bags,
that carried all our coins
They buy their retribution
in masks of vigilance.
“You dare to doubt our goals?”
Bent about like cordons,
secure in their position,
They try malum in se.
“Taboo,” the cry, “such judgments!
(of) hungry violation.”
Spun about like wind-socks,
clutching every handbill
to grasp a quick solution
for every passing grief
“Don’t call me a fascist…”
Feste's Lute 