Bare Before Your Maker

Here you are, at last, stark naked, bare before

your Maker. What does your tired Maker make of you?

What seeds has your soul sown?  What about you stands

alone? What does it mean that all your arms and hands

have so inordinately and importunately grown?










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Everybody's Pleased

Everybody’s pleased with everything today.

There’s nothing we don’t like.

Our mitochondria are gladsome at the way

they’re being fed to feed the spike

of energy our cells can’t get enough of.

Sexually, oh! -- the thrills

we’ve had through summoning the stuff of

what voluptuously spills!

Ice cream’s been a treat. And thinking

hasn’t swamped us.

We think we have death beat. So far it

hasn’t whomped us.









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A Random Grand Amalgam

A random grand amalgam

of exquisite sensibilities

arrived today

to tease me

into thinking art was not

the least bit hard.

Caught me off my guard.

But then I found it quite

convincing. So I strolled

cavalierly through my aptitudes

and blithely chopped them up

into an offhand  

minced thing.

Now I’m wincing.

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