America is a Hotel

America is a hotel and control is getting stricter.
The maitre d is killing some
or kicking out the weaker.
Those who stay are forced to say
the ammenities are great.
Each in their own room they feel alone.
They’re sure they’re safe
four walls provide a private place
to indulge in all variety of life and love
and fate.
But here it comes a one
who’s testing out the bait.
He says too much
implies a lie,
he gives a real opinion.
After the infraction, not knowing it as such,
the hero leaves the room into
the contorted, carpeted hallway.
Accosted by the thought police,
he now knows of the transgession
what he forgot to not think,
hide thought.
Collapsed from brute force,
they cannot kill his spirit.
A long stay in the hospital
to cure or kill,
the induced drugged dream state
will still not interrupt
his passionate drive for justice.
And his meager human life
is saved.
The knowledge he holds too dear,
to the function of the hotel.
A time of crisis calls for his time to awake
and he’ll happily solve their problem,
but not until he’s tried to bark,
to tell the people of their imperative
inclusion in the solution.
Yet no one trusts
the rebel with his revolutionary garble.
We think this part of his treatment.
We think it’s part of the plot
to put us in the hospital too
or in the grave to rot.
We fear the ideas
escape or change
and settle in lives of ease
appeasing our inside masters.
And keep our distance,
knowing too well what the rebel is capable of.
Once he saves the day,
he runs for greener pasture.
The chase epicly winds across steep hill.
Turning the sympathizer into empathizer,
even obliteration can’t break his will.

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the long and
a mesmerizing
or the beginning
of the
they go down
to the

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Bees for Keeps

She’d shot out
to get sugar
for her bees
though they come
and go
the swarms
forming or disgorging
bees bustled about
on and off of frames
cleaning off the honey
until interrupted
by pooch bella
biting at the bees
she doesn’t mind
the bee bites
given back
having eaten a banana
the bees were drawn
into the clasping cavern
boss bee babe
smells of banana
warning of yellow.

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Earthday Everyday, K?

Weeping for the wounds of the world
by the quarry pond scar
my feet dipped in
water around ankles swirled.

Two geese placidly paddled across it
clouds rolling darkly
opening, closing eyes
they leaked like the faucet
in the bathroom downstairs
both sink and tub
despite cranking handles
still wasted water cares.

What first had me shaken
was evil men do to men
hate for sake of hate
and many lives are taken
but when I wept
I found the burden to be deeper
not just what we do to eachother
but moreso to our green mother,
our lively keeper.

The stones removed from this quarry
to create some false comfort, some industry
some monument or fortune
you know the story
and instead of revenge or hate
she makes it beautiful regardless,
a pond for fish to swim,
a place for geese to mate.

I allowed myself to feel
just sadness, not guilt
and explored those depths
alone and wailing well-bottom
on which humanity’s future must be built.

Each torrent of tears
brought more clouds and more wind
playing music on the surface
it tried to dry the tears
of all of those who’ve sinned.

A flat, leggy green spider
keeping company on a rock
didn’t think or talk
just listened higher and wider.

Then I saw the fishes
not a foot away from feet
they floated as I wilted
they counted up my wishes.

One fish flopped up
undoubtedly to catch a fly
but I thought it funny
imagining he just
flipped out to say hi.
my laugh was wild and sounded harsh
so similar to cries,
calm and joyful as a tree
trying bark on for size.

Guilt, Revenge, Fear, and Hate
if we remove this yoke
we’d live more like the forest
we might enjoy this cosmic joke.

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Hot dog Obfuscate: A Challenge Sestina

Out the window is a bicycle
kryptonite chain hangs slack
dapper man my view will obfuscate
looks down at cell phone (hotdog)
Now I view each bike particle
bolts, links, rainwater’s wheel tangent

A business plan for hot dogs
delivered upon bicycle
heat holding box bottom tangent
to wheel, parallel to ground particles
logo on box, do not obfuscate
this work, I’d never slack

Something left him a particle
a one on subway, jaw slack
clutching bag, eyes obfuscate
a man you’d never call a hotdog
I’d suggest a ride on bicycle
I’d suggest a wild tangent

Oscar Meyer hot dog
mobile truck not bicycle
each meat part particle
reaches up smiles tangent
to bun, which will obfuscate
all of a dog when it frowns slack

Hulk’s muscles do not slack
flexes for organic particle
smoothie and hot dog
color pictures abundant, obfuscate
eyes on a tangent
see whizzing by bicycle

Layers of translation obfuscate
the truth of hot dog
cannot be proven with bicycle
chain and casing slack
how unprovable each particle
how unreal the tangent

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full moon cheese

Would the moon were made of cheese
the fat warming vat,
not pure as snow
mimicking lunar glow
contains endless opportunities

when the whey breaks from the curd
looking sickly like pickley brine
make parallel lines
velvety clumps freed
all comparisons are absurd

when metal molds are filled so soon
blobs in craggy landscapes, whey escapes
dried rock formations
will last the duration
cheese is made of the moon

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Road Kill

I arrived on Sunday, at my new farm of employment. Monday was milking in the morning, putting away the previous batch of cheese, fetching a cow who had calved a day ago to bring her in with the other mothers (the calf in tow with buck teeth), reorganizing the cheese cave, and tending the shop. Cyprus taught me things all day. It was a good days work, and we went upstairs to relax for a minute before dinner.

I thought about taking my dirty jeans off. “Cyprus! Laurel hit a deer, do you want to help dress it?”. Of course” I put back on my jacket.

The deer was closer than I imagined and we drove the tractor up to hang it on and brought it to the hay barn. Slit and spilling (after being secured to the ceiling) a bulging stomach emerged, ready to burst. Punctured it oozed half-digested grasses copiously. From the wind pipe to the butt hole, Micheal removed the gut parts of the young buck. The gall bladder was not punctured. Dogs were very interested.

We hung it up and agreed that Cyprus and I would skin it and butcher it the next afternoon. She had a book! And I had seen something like it done!

The tool part was the lacking. I couldn’t find a bone saw. We had a large heavy cleaver and sharp small knives to skin him with. And it went fairly smoothly. We didn’t skin the head and I chopped it off. No better no worse than sawing. I wound up for the first stroke, and hit the neck, hoping to make it straight through with just one strike. No such luck, but I was surprised and pleased at the amount of progress made. The cleaver split through the first layer of muscle and significantly dented the spinal cord.

I hacked and hacked and made it through. “I’ll remember not to fuck with you,” said Cyprus, and we continued on with the process. We chopped down the length of the spinal cord, unfortunately mutilating the meat more than it already was from the sedan which drove over it. She had plenty of opportunity to try the cleaver and see the satisfaction of hefting it up and letting it drop in the proper cleave. We quartered it and cleaned up the stainless steel bakery table, which was borrowed for the job well done.

My hands, covered in the blood of an innocent bystander, made themselves busy and useful in the butchering of this waste meat.

Backstrap recipe:
Remove backstrap (the meat along the spine), attempting not to sever. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Salt and pepper both sides liberally. Wrap in bacon or don’t. Put it into the preheated oven and drop temp to 325. Cook 30ish minutes until internal temp is 130 for rare. Slice and eat.

Try to not waste food!

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Cooking the Cow I Learned to Milk on

Becky was a sweet cow, never difficult or mean. She let everyone pet her and anyone patient milk her. Her teats were made for beginners, fat and long and even. She was top of the heifer pecking order and a benevolent leader at that. She never head-butted the other cows. She loved citrus fruits and being scratched.

So when deciding how to prepare her ground meat, I decided on a dish to showcase her flavor. Beef Stroganoff. Here’s what I did:

-Melted a pad of butter in a deep pan.

(I opened the home packaged, thawed meat and noticed the butchering date, 2/8/13, and the bits of familiar hay in the folds of the paper.)

-Add 1 lb ground cow and cook a bit more than halfway.

(How now, ground cow?)

-Put meat to the side and cook 1 onion and half a pepper, chopped, til semi-soft and put those aside as well.

(feel free to add more butter any time.)

– Cook half a dozen, or more, sliced mushrooms in the pan, reserve these separately.

– In the remaining juices (or add more butter) add 2 Tbsp Flour and incorporate thoroughly before adding 1 cup stock from yesterday or a can.

-Add back the meat, onions and peppers and 1/2 tsp mustard.

-Cook one hour, when it smells too delicious to wait any longer, add 1/3c yogurt and 1/3c whatever beer you’re drinking (preferably a pale ale or white wine).

-Salt and Pepper to taste.

Serve with egg noodles or fresh bread. Feel cozy and warm inside.

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TV Poem

Righty tighty
lefty loosey
she’s in her fifties
they’re in their forties
twenty thirteen let’s go
embedded in the floor panels
the robot can go
underneath the grid
so it saves you a lot of money?
what is it capt’n?
the crocodile is trapped
sometimes I get the feeling
that I’ve never ever had before
you two get along?
we’ve always talked
and you know
from coast to coast
a cup of coffee should be easy as 1, 2
just one
America’s freshest technology
she’s fine
she’s headed home.
he’s dead sir
he was shot down by the bandits
saddle up.
well naturally
she likes things done properly
I bid you good nite.
Every other day
powerwalk another day
only one
this is my heartbeat
an extra kick of nutrition
that’s what people are afraid of.
short term only, clear your schedule
for tomorrow
move to Florida
the other hotel, the one in the
Hell- Hello?
Down Here
push the limits of science
to save lives
hike, boo
cheers, whistle
she runs a small
breeding center
today w/ the world
the way it is
conservation is most interesting
to me.
The time of year
when we are excited about sports
then breed in the United States
millions of birds in flocks
so enormous
fly so far as Northeast Canada.

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Snow day today!

The sky is thick and grey
the flakes are swirling down
little brown birds are pecking
at the ground
the blue jay, lone blue jay
sits in the maple
until the cardinal darts
red arrow to the heart
of the tree
the blue jay flees
meanwhile the little brown ones
squeek in fun, jump and play
swoop up to the rubber rope
dramatically swerve to the tree
on the corner
and rest.
alltogether back to the ground.

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