Intelligentsia S&M

“It makes my panties wet,

When you get literary like that”

So I locked eyes with her, 

And slowly mispronounced… “Proust”

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Time Does Not Erase

Time does not erase, it etches deeper
water, wind, ripping stone, sculptor forming
this face, this voice, torn away by a reaper.

Dreams of when I lay down with you, father, sleeper,
found your body curled, yellowed and deforming.
Time does not erase, it etches deeper.

Waking to a silent house, the passing street sweeper
a photo, yellowed like your skin, features mellowing, reforming…
this face, this voice, torn away by a reaper.

My memory a grim, persistent bookkeeper,
etching in ink, any missed figure marked as alarming.
Time does not erase, it etches deeper.

Therapy’s costly, but alcohol’s cheaper,
momentary fading, as our belly’s warming…
this face, this voice, torn away by a reaper.

Flail about, should you become a lighthouse keeper?
Anything to flee these long years of mourning.
Time does not erase, it etches deeper
this face, this voice, torn away by a reaper.

Posted in Death, Father, Obsession, Poem, poetry, Uncategorized, Vilanelle | Tagged , , | 10 Comments


President Clinton has appointed her daughter Chelsea, to an unnamed role, but with security clearance and an office in the White House. Chelsea will be joining her husband there, who is one of Clinton’s top advisors. Earlier in the year, Clinton appointed the editor of the Daily Kos (Markos Moulitsas) as her chief advisor, along with Debbie Wasserman Schultz.

Over the course of two months, she has insulted the heads of all of America’s most important allies and friends, and has been essentially trolled by the Irish Prime Minister during his visit to the White House on St. Patrick’s Day. Her overly friendly hugging of the Canadian Prime Minister raised major eyebrows, and his clear revulsion at the embrace has made for late night fodder. She has slashed military spending in her budget, and has reallocated funds to a variety of pet pork-belly projects. While her majorities in the House and Senate continue to support her, there are cracks appearing at the seams, and her chief pet legislation, and expansion of protections for LGBQT rights, seems to be dead on arrival.

She has spent 5 of her 9 weekends since taking the Oath of Office at her vacation home on Martha’s Vineyard, at a cost of $3 million per trip to the American taxpayer. Bill has decided to stay behind in at their home in New York, at a cost to taxpayers of $4.3 million per month.

Her “movement” continues to be dogged by scandals and FBI investigations. Recently, the heads of the FBI and NSA testified before the House Intelligence Committee, essentially damning her for lying about George W. Bush on Twitter, and revealing that there is an active investigation into her administration’s seeming ties to the Chinese government. Her National Security Advisor has been forced to resign, due to ties to the Chinese government, whom Clinton oddly seems to favor despite their government’s continued pressure’s on US allies and clear attempts at territory expansion by military means. Her continued insistence on using an unsecured Blackberry has sites like Breitbart accusing her of using the device to communicate with what they are calling “Her masters in Beijing”.

Her refusal to release the tax filings of The Clinton Foundation, citing “privacy concerns of our donors”, are simply fuel for the pile, allowing right leaning news services such as Fox to speculate that those donors include the Chinese government, and/ or Chinese billionaires with close ties to the Communist Party leadership.

Her popularity rating is now at 37%, the lowest of any President at this point in their early Presidency.

These are troubled times, indeed.

Posted in Clinton, Politics, Russia, Trump, Uncategorized, United States, USA | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Gull

It rises above
the dunes shadow,
gull rising, October sun, the early fading.

Rhythmic bleating, endless and ungrowing,
oblivious to  pendantic dancing,
word to word, glance to glance, measured conversations.

This middle movement, these greying eyes, faded glances,
the fading touches,
…the gull rising, bleating.

The sand under calloused feet,
the quiet shush shush of feet on dry, beaten rock,
the shadow of the gull,
the still of midnight ocean,
the muted roar, echoes
through silent nights

The sorrowed sailor,
beating towards always empty shores.

Posted in Creative Writing, Loss, Love, poetry, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Quick Sand

Wallace Stevens
quickened at 46.
I may yet make order
on some beach
or another.

Posted in Poem, poetry, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

spring flingin’

This is just to say
that I am in the back yard
there’s a red breasted robin feeding 5 feet away,
a woodpecker upside down at the same feeder and
a burning red cardinal sitting not far above.
Their songs call back and forth,
as far in the distance a hawk beats wings
towards the ocean
a black and yellow butterfly forming circles around
the base of the butterfly bush
I just chopped down low
(spring renewal can look like carnage)
the desiccated ornamental grass from last summer
lies bundled and chopped
under the long, chopped legs
of the butterfly bush
there’s a rabbit resting his head on my foot
there’s a World War II spotter plane
moaning through the sky above my head
the Merrimack hits the shores,
and I can hear the waves lapping
when the wind is right
this pilsner is lovely
and there is, for a moment, the purest clarity
Posted in Creative Writing, Poem, poetry, Uncategorized, Writing | 7 Comments

(sin voz)

Esta no es mi nativa
incluso adquirida, sin embargo,
la herramienta que me está
en éxtasis
y verborrea
mi cara
no se traduce, más
como el famoso salamandra de Paz
quemaduras y vueltas y emerge
cada movimiento un paso
cada inmolación, una
autorización, y
un camino talla
hacia la libertad
hacia una traducción final

Posted in Aging, On Writing, Poem, poetry, Writing | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment