Nude Photos

Naked pictures
Of bluebirds and red finches
Overdeveloped and out of focus
Feathered boas and padded breasts
Exposed and vulnerable
To the cloaked cat
With the esurient green eyes… 

2008 © T.S.

Channeling Dead Poets

Bukowski sent me a high priority email
from his luxurious bungalow hideaway.
He’s living on an island in the Pacific; said
that Amelia had landed safely….
and that more details would soon be forthcoming;
his having discovered the secrets of the Noni fruit.
As for me, I’m taking up the slack he left behind;
writing drunken verses containing very little rhyme…
on the belly of a dark-eyed girl from Detroit
who has just escaped from a dungeon in her mind….

2008 © T.S.

They all Claim to Love Poetry

blessed be the pure of mind
who will turn a blind eye
to the poetic forms of porn
written by
pigs that can’t fly
yet believing they can
they write
extremely bad poetry
about swine
who hate women,
or men
who like little children
a little too much;
Suidae who dress up in heels
like drag queens with even toes
and slop around the house
exposing themselves
to the neighbors
in bay windows
claiming perversion
to be an art form
they express
with lipstick smears
and bloody napkins
of sperm and DNA
we collect it as evidence
on glass slides
crimes committed
put never prosecuted
expunged from the record
to protect the innocent
and the guilty
we take their picture
and post it on black velvet
to be sold in the market
right next to the spoiled fish
with the clouded eyes….

2010 © T.S.

 Reading Lennon’s No Flies on Frank

Just the other day I had felt like dying. My life was tired and old.

My white shoes were grass stained and reeking of bad poetry.

The mower was being held in contempt by the gas can

and both had just been informed of the higher cost of oil;

Due to the tremendous growth in the Chinese economy

and much higher than expected carbon emissions in India.

Bukowski was renting space in my head for free, while Ginsberg

Howled over the dandelions that were overtaking the lawn.

All fertilizer sales had been suspended, fears of

Homegrown terrorism was growing like weeds and widespread.

Rod McKuen had been apprehended and arrested

Shortly after nine by the department of Homeland Security

Caught cashing my checks from the Mexican government,

 Using an illegal immigrant’s photo ID for proof of citizenship.

With most all of my autobiographical accounts overdrawn

“Insufficient funds” due to a liberal sense of entitlement

On the part of left wing politics, and subjugated to prosecution of fraud.

Dante wrote me that Hell had frozen over,

And he had moved to Miami to be closer to his dead mother.

Death was looking attractive as

Eighteen year old virgins talked of their affairs

While wearing their public nudity, like warrants

Arresting me, and tempting me with the suicidal promises

Of four hour erections,

And an elongated epic for better penetration.

I was sure I wanted to die, as my world was empty and I was alone…

When I heard that little voice in my head say

“Killing yourself because no one understands you is rubbish,

If you kill yourself, do it because everybody is on to you.”

2010 © T.S.