Another School Shooting

without a second thought an ar-15

without a second thought the nra

without a second thought platitudes

wheel spokes of ar-15s

a circle of ar-15s shoot at the centre

an ar-15 shoots off its mouth

right to mouth off the nra

an ar-15 because i can

open carry platitudes poured on tap

life you’re fired

morning constitutional right to kill

nra empowering your inner darkness since 1871

another round of spent shells of prayers and condolences

the poet

the poet dwells
at a safe distance
from words

the poet
pussyfoots around
the utter brink

the poet paces out
the sound of space

the poet
hot off the press
goes silent

the poet goes
between breaths

the poet
pads out
the silences

the poet
lipsynchs his reflection
in tranquility

the poet
skirts the edges
of relevance

the poet
rattles off
his mortal coil

the poet at home
with the loneliness
of a long-distance runner

the poet
scratches the imagined limits
of his horizons

the poet
his nest egg

the poet
measures his success
in tossed panties

the poet loses
his daytime job
to the moon

the poet quickens
to the sound
of his own voice

the poet
strikes a pose
off its pedestal

the poet
plays out
the party line

the poet weeps
as sound and sense end
his abstinence

the poet
a moment

the poet
loses himself
in his words

a disintergrative dearth

her myrrh
embalms for now
the murmur
in healthy balance
hear the word
her need
(indeed only one)
she pours over 
the word
one death ends
with a word 
for its tomb
the word ‘poor’ always
and the word to be 
no more
among us
a word dies 
because it does not die
on her lips
of itself
the skin of words
sleep in-turning death’s portal

The Flying Pope meets Neon Buddha

the flying pope
and the neon buddha
back to back
in his quiet moments
the flying pope becomes
a neon buddha
a neon buddha
the flying pope
only through the flying pope
neon buddha-hood
stripped of kigo
the neon buddha becomes
a flying pope
from time to time
the flying pope circles 
the neon buddha
the pope flying
a neon buddha
at half mast
flying in the face of reason
the pope’s neon buddha-hood
into a grain of sand
the flying pope projects
a neon buddha
the flying pope
with outstretched arms
to the neon buddha


all could be ill
or well


Atlas shrugs off
a fountainhead


on an orange ass
“the masters of mankind”
trumpet their anthem


behind the ass
crying “look at me, look at me”,
“destroy destroy destroy”


pre-emptive strike
against the earth
and their other