Archive for the ‘Verse’ Category

Who is the devil

March 30, 2018



he is a bad smell

a loud and ugly noise

the shame of a whore in morning light



unjust crucifixion

bribery and blackmail

the employer of assassins

kangaroo court

a prostitute escort

he burns trash on a rainy day

and writes code to print black pages

he is fits and rages



fraudulent surgery

a malicious chiropractor

stubborn pride

he is the father of lies

a gold-digger bride

he is the mob mentality of popular opinion

mockery and derision

he is a glaring, ugly light

Lucifer ain’t so bright

he wants you to fear him more than you fear God

oh ye foolish captains of the Pequod














O’ Church of the Rock

January 2, 2018

You  may  be  pope’less

But  you  ain’t  hope’less



















O’ Ye Captains

February 3, 2016



O’ ye captains of the Pequod,

“Vengeance is mine,” sayeth the Lord.











Who Flies the Dutchman

September 27, 2013
You do, bitch.

Secret Service

April 9, 2011
An impulse led me to the pool. He was the only one in the water, leaning against the edge after some laps. Hair — golden when wet.
He was done for the day — or so it seemed. I had to say, “Do you remember the butterfly?” He nodded, basking in a swimmer’s high. “Give me three strokes and I promise that I’ll never ask you for another thing.”

With little hesitation, he lunged forward, disappearing under limpid blue. Breaking the surface, he jutted up like USS NARWHAL. Glorious javelin. Mark Spitz couldn’t touch him. Porpoise, bucking zircon. He did more than three strokes. By the length of the pool he had demonstrated that there can be no contest between man and woman. This is what Gabriel meant when he told Mohammad to write “Why would God make angels like women who are no good in a fight?”

“God made man out of clay and angels out of smokeless fire.” My beautiful swimmer emanated a familiar signature. It came with a message. “I’ve got your back.” Suddenly he filled the whole room. Air and water were all his essence. Inhuman, holy. “I’ve got your back.” An ocean of meaning, transcending words embraced me. Language of the angels.

I’m a clumsy flying fortress and he is fighter escort. Super-human. Non-human. Ever so often I will encounter one in a crowd or sitting in the shade of a tree on a bench, watching me soberly. God’s secret service.

Highway Star

April 3, 2010

Flanked by a brace

I mounted the steep-grade


Cruising speed, faster in some places

Perfect morning in somebody’s November summer

Took off to the Nile

Now I’m getting close to home

Beauteous sunset views

Foot of the first mountain

Night fell like a curtain

I’m surging into it

Into the night

Climbing, rocketing into the night

Fast-lane glory daddy

First mountain top, I see a glimpse of distant blue lightning

Down into the valley, around a lake, cross a river, maybe two…

I’m getting so close I can taste it

The air

The thick

American Nile

Thumping, rocking, spanking Nile

Ablaze with lightning

The valley of my soul

So down into it I must charge

Ain’  no stoppin’ me now Mister Hwy Star

Just as I was chasing a Mustang up the steep

We crested the mountain

Diverted by jagged, electric-blue

I look to my right — and then down

Down into The Basin

A horrific storm hovered over my splendid Vale

A tempest

Discharges of cobalt streaks

Raw, unbridled

I saw it from the top-down

Lightning flashed

And lit for two seconds

A vortex tearing through the valley

White light flashed again

Tornado churning

Violently claiming tree and man

We were above the clouds

Airplane perspective

But it’s a moonless night

So shed some light

On the ribbon of road as we race over the mountain

It was a strange deliverance into my Valley

Post-something eeriness

Drove past an 18-wheeler that looked like it was dropped from the sky

To swollen creeks and flash-flooding driveways

Home without incident

Garage door won’t open, hmmm…

There’s been a power-cut

Must have been the storm

Dark house, dark rooms, dark dark dark

Find a candle

Mr. Palmer is frantic to go out on the porch

I open the door to a sound

Like a freight train

And spoke a while to a kinsman before

Drifting off

Into the balm

Into the calm