Quick Little Rhyme

Instead of miserable oats
A bagel with butter is toast
But better with cream
And whole different breakfast
That boasts a whole new dream.

Whuttering Poblutteropes

Two made up words, intertwined. I know what they mean, do you?

A seed of thought poblutteropes the thinning ROY-G-BIV mind whuttering it to orange,

A single eye-burning a tear whuttering down my cheek dusts the click of peculiar specificity to my rewind button.

The electricity whuttering from circuits churning butter, my brain gurgles poblutteropes and chisels its munge,

Like the oxygen-gold ringing, poblutteropes from swats/swings, it cradles curious whuttering,

The sword slices of turbulent windows-down poblutteropes in whuttering wind.

The whuttering look of brown sugar wakes swirls between poblutteropes in steaming oats

Like free whipping poblutteropes whuttering of steam/smoke behind a silver spoon and in a bullet spin

They ascend a gaseous spread with a whuttering of orange hopes.

You, cradle-rock whuttering lid of the sauce-pan, tip back whuttering into tip forth

On round edge, square handle. Said boiling water in its unguarded poblutteropes

Bubbling a whuttering ballad, to the lid, that boasts its graceful escape from the torch.

The lid’s rhyme was a whuttering on the glorious munge filled cracks of kitchen tile moats,

Where the wreaking poblutteropes of crocodile burps inspire whuttering in ants,

As hormonal poblutteropes that snowball-butterfly a chirp whuttering into white-noise munge mind, like a broken unfixable plugged in and on and tuned out whuttering picture box.

Idly whuttering, feverish muttering poblutteropes of a forgotten language’s opiate chant

The spider web of ancient whuttering wisdom from the pig’s prophecies in munge and in the way a farm-pig talks

Is the whuttering of brilliant ink dripping poblutteropes and dried into arbitrary munge

Fossilized poblutteropes in glossolalia, every breath whuttering amber from the udder of emotion.

Although it paints the whuttering of an ancient poblutterope’s last lunge

Its orange brush poblutteropes its whuttering in oil when dropped in a turpentine ocean

But where poblutteropes ripple rubber ducks into waves whose whuttering

Brews poblutteropes from a whuttering waxing shivering moon

Bubbling magma poblutteropes from a snow-munge whuttering earth sweating

Whuttering a melt from white flakey poblutteropes from a cloud whuttering fluffy croon.

Hills for hounds

I lay and wondered
Who tripped over the hill I made
For the hill to have.
Who tripped into the grave
I dug for myself.

My old body lay still,
Under proof of life
Staked in granite
With rainy day mourners
Under meteors.

Walter next to me
And every Stearns
Had a whale song.
And some, their coffins,
Were scratched.

The black mulch yard was
Kicked up from under bushes
For the bones of Margaret Holmes
And the fragile
Black hair still in a pony tail.

Proof of it on Mars
Sit where the leaves compost in muddy inches
Down dug in with my soul.
Sit on the hill on the hill
Or next to the hole.

Fossilized Grape

Like radiation of lungs
Fire is cast in glass
Trumpeted from a red-hot gun
In form that’s shy of darkness
Bunches of glass grapes of home
Beaming colorful masses


Shaped like the planet of a legend sun
Rolled circle through burnt iron harness
Ancient, these are fragile stones
Babylon’s purple amber
Drops of lavender hail
Fuchsia sand of Loch Ness

The cracks they have grown
Blessed in beauty by a candle
A wrinkle soft, light and fertile
No scratch is under dressed
Their prism is a bloom
A womb of cracked patches


Tarnished alien larva fruit
Gracing their bed with jewels
From the dark side of the moon
Resting on their mirror matches
Upside down in dirty chain-link roots
In a burnt shade of grime


Stillness hide’s the statue’s starving
An iron scale they hide
In a balanced dance of marvel
Shining pink in ballerina lace
Their sweetness sways a glide
Hovering measurement like gravel


Lost the old wood boards creak of pride
But imbued with a pearl of grace
Dropped at such a hurried pace
They'll crack like a gavel
Then squeak a gentle sigh
And jingle senseless on the rim


The grin will dwindle from the face
Chained with torment stride
A stutter in the battle cry
Chipping when they crack their kin
Losing spin like a whisper in the wind
The purple dino-roar has died


Smothered in a shine of grease
The immortal beauty has beauty dimmed
No tree sways in wind when made of metal
A lavender-less lease for a lie
Sinning never to have a raisin’s peace
Or wither in the wild
Or find the shade of an Iris pedal


To lie in bins and never die
Beguiled by the eye of the fate beast
Who ceased feast for a smile
To hear the kettle cry of a child
And match the drapes with a thirst for wine
From grapes of style that taste the least
That bubbled from the fire.

Lost Seasons

Watch the trees turn to glass,
Or if its snow,
Walk where it blows,
Sit everyday in the grass,
Leave footprints in mud,
Quickly erased with a rainy lick,
Smell the fresh-cut with your nose,
Forget the ground on a picnic,
Sit in leafy piles,
Crunch them with your toes.
Wear drips of seasons in your blood,
Sweat, sneeze and shiver thick,
Forget to remember until at last it comes,
Live in their current love because,
Lost season's change their tricks.

Espresso Royale

I like to take my time
In city snow and grime.
Tackin in the streets
With beats on my mind,
Chillin with the alley cats,
Scarves, hoodies and hats.
Sippin hot coffee
And cigerettes.

Microwave 2

With a crook in the cradle
Who blings up the candy bike
The shakeup will be fatal
And melt the wheels on your trike
No bendy straws in my drinks
I’ll sink low where they send me
Can't sip free when the straw has kinks
Swirl psych-out like half-Tennessee


With a face full of mace glue
In a cage made of laser bars
The sick escape was traced to
A slipstream that orbits mars
The race to the place was with
the fuzz sirens and fiery foes
The pocket ship pilot was my cuz
with a buzz as red-cold as rose

There are missiles on our toes
Click the hatch, drop our cargo
Burn them when the whistle blows
Can't catch the warp 4 glow
Lose all the napkin rings
Drink or drop the six packs
We'll pop out the razor rims
And rip a strip of tic-tacs

Send the laser guided ape
Drop space-gators in the gaps
No staplers, straps or tape
Use carmel under space-caps
Marvel in the maple maps
No apes for my blender dreams
Blend creamed cat, heave your craps
Make stacks of pancake mutinies

Crisp crumple without sun block
Rip a bumble like a June bee
Go suck a royal tic-toc
Hoard butter in a nuttery
Make your way into milky ways
Light waves crash on black hole sand
Milk haze from the sun rays
Cook a space clone by hand

Or book a flight to the icing
And sip soup like the spice-king.