on this the first we want to burst
right out of the starting gate
yet by the second we’ll already’ve reckoned
we’ve blown it and it’s too late
but come the third both jock and nerd
have the heartening realization
that by the fourth some fun’ll come north
for enjoyment, employment, sensation.
White House for sale or shill
Doom to let, 50 bil
Kiss ass, kowtow, and chill
All aboard, Big Beautiful Thrill! We got
Goon squads and thugs on ICE
Boat explosions adding spice. It’s not
Hard to see this man be
King of the Rude!
Pardons, one million bucks
(All that restitution sucks.)
Crypto to pay for play,
Green cards on steroids! Hey, it’s just
Business as usual for a
Springtime-fresh douche, you all
Clearly can see the man must be
King of the Rude!
He knows every grift and hoax, every scam
All of the angles to get out of a jam
And every pocket that wants to be lined
To line up corruption one crook at a time! And it’s
East Wing and wrecking ball
Shades of ol’ Tammany Hall.
No soul, no ethics, bet
Vlad-Daddy’s got his pet, but just
Two hours of throwing peeps
Under that bus for keeps. We must
All admit, he’s, no shit,
King of the Rude!!
It is the last day of the year.
At 4:21 AM my Kia Soul and a Dodge Ram Promaster Cargo made contact at the intersection of 16th Street and Thomas in Phoenix, Arizona.
This happened to my Soul.
This happened to the Ram.
Both drivers seem undamaged.
for the birds
nana rests on the rest of the block of clay she rode in on.
grandpa is on the potter’s wheel, giving me the stink-eye.
the two of them took about an hour and a half to make.
“i didn’t ask to be hatched,” grandpa seems to be saying, but his daughter is less harsh
and pleads with me wordlessly to give her at least nine eggs to nurture.
they are unfinished, and i will spend more time than i usually do to spruce them up.
i suspect grandpa wants to be admired.
his daughter wants chicks.
i will see what i can do.
I like Cate Blanchett and Ben Stiller and Mandy Patinkin and his loving wife and Gabby Giffords and her loving husband
So when they ask me to stop scrolling and pay attention and cough up I feel so bad when I only do two out of three
Having exceeded my 2025 charitable contributions budget by a factor of 2.5 or so
But I wish them well
And I’ll catch them in 2026 after I complete my expensive uprooting and transplanting
If conditions still obtain
If the world remains unexploded
If I and my loving Sweetheart are still here and together
..
Meanwhile the only thing I ask of you and the rest of my friends
Is ask yourself:
“Have I done as much giving as taking?”
It is the one thing that will rightly inform your actions regarding charitable contributions
And it’s healthy
To pay attention
To yourself.
phoenix ay zee
has been home to me
but my sweetheart resides in toledo
so in june i will launch like a jazzed-up torpedo
and suitcase my clothing as best suits a suitor
and bring my ceramics and laptop computer
and love in my heart for this intricate soul
and we’ll have adventures tween north and south pole
and make the ride last for as long as we can
a golden-years couple both woman and man
a dude and a kitten
both lusty both smitten
with both meters running
it’s loving and funning
that counts!
in new york in 2018 a black-capped chickadee
was audially captured for four minutes
and fifty-seven seconds
sounding nothing if not tired and bored
“here i/am now/[pause]/here i/am now/[pause]/
here i/am now/[pause]/here i/am now/[pause]/”
little johnnie four-note
with almost nothing to say
..
but isn’t it a miracle:
you can think of a bird, any bird
and do a search for “[bird] birdsong”
and in less than a minute
that bird will sing
only for you
He had to be a Big Shot,
Spouting What a Fool Believes;
And now he has a cabi-knot
Of Crypties, Tramps and Thieves.
But his misdeeds spark up a mind
And LO, how does that brain glow,
That balladeer of White House crime,
The stellar Randy Rainbow.
..
Applause for the lunatic, lyrical genius known as Randy Rainbow, whose song parodies eviscerating “Donald Jessica Trump” give me hope that there is still intelligent life in our beleaguered nation.
the late chris farley spoke into a fan:
“l-u-k-e. i-i-i a-a-m y-o-o-u-u-r f-a-a-t-h-h-e-r.”
the fan blades feather-chopped the sound
and made him sound otherworldly.
he was acting like a kid. he was Tommy Boy.
and when we were kids, Boys and Girls,
we clothes-pinned playing cards to our bikes
such that they strummed the wheel spokes
whole the wheels turned
just as a guitar pick strums strings–
or is it that the spokes strum the cards?
we also filled paper bags with exhaled air,
held tightly closed the bag end, and punched
the bag just right, for a loud and satisfying
popping sound.
cellophane and raisin boxes can be made to make
a piercing soprano whistling noise.
the finger-pulled-sideways-through-the-mouth
is still fun. squeezing air between armpit and hand
is juvenile, but so what?
special bags of dried corn and grease make a sound
in the microwave a bit like fireworks, but please,
On Your Life and for the Love of God, do not
use a Microwave
to pop a Weasel.
I have three major projects: Chess Pieces, Exotic Birds of No Known Species, and Some Assembly Required. All are represented in this photo, but the Some Assembly Required piece is the most imposing.
