Category: Uncategorized

Broken down in Flatbush,
I’m waitin’ on my bus,
Feelin’ really slimy in my scrubs.

Cuomo’d pulled his left glove off,
dabbed in alcohol,
then he turned the knob and we went in.

I pulled on a pantyhose
over my bloody splotched bandana
gone was the supply of PPE’s

It was just a matter of marking down the time,
I held Mrs. Gomez’s hand in mine
And we said evry’ prayer the chaplin knew…

And Covid’s just another nightmare
for a pestilence renewed
Now we’re in this horror
When all along they knew!

Feeling sick and dying,
They said “you’ll be ok”
We’re short on ventilators,
“But the bug will go away…”

Scanning retail books, I was struck.
A title you see.
To un-see would take some luck.
“The Fattest Man in the World”

I passed with nimble ease,
Making distance on my escape.
Should not be seen if you please
Thumbing through such murky tele-tape.

The caption accusatorially mocks.
Am I fat?
Not enough to have my own book.
That would be huge!
Is that mean?
I didn’t say it aloud.
So, is that allowed?
Like the fattest man in the world?
Talk about drawing a crowd.

Decision made, I will take another look.
Surely there is a reason for such a book.

And there lies my grave error.
Nothing to do with mass: only speed.
Hand to the face in horror
It would help if I could read.
Slowly I said
“The Fastest Man in the World”

Jon Walker

This is just to say
I did not eat
all the Hamberders
with my slender, manly hands.
They were not my type.
I don’t know what hamberders are.
I did not pay $130,000 for them.
I only saw them once.
It took three minutes MAX.
They were so fat, their Buns.
People are saying,
“Sir, you are the best Eater.
Nobody has seen anything like it.

Tossing and turning in ink-stained firmament,
The author loses grasp upon her document.
The thing beyond proof, divine afflatus,
Swoops past the scholar’s apparatus.
The blue-ink’d tide is dammed; under the lash
The spasms of failed footnotes writhe and crash.
Critical Studies smolder, intensify, ignite
Past power of spadework to trace a cite.
Surely a New Age is at hand.

Surely the critics will disappear,
Old ways overturned! But with that phrase,
A chill sight out of mondo academico
Freezes the brain. Out of the vapor comes
The Beast; one who, roughly, turns
All to inward:
Tautological, tendentious, a shaggy dog.

Ghosts of the Realists follow its reductions,
Wraiths of tattered reason, wailing their deductions—
Coiling, self-contradictory, noways more strong
Than dream-children of deconstruction can prolong.
Rocking to and fro, reanimating speech, the cur seeks
To paddify its vita, and at length it speaks
(Rumbling alphaomega, a mobius of facilitiz)
A motto of strange effect: “It iz what it iz.

Ocean is very vast,
Friendship is not about cast,
Ship floats only on water,
Friendship starts always with a matter.

Friends who help in need are the best,,
Worst friends take friendship as attest,
Best friends are not rough,
Making a best friend is tough,
Make a friend, who will help you in need,
His/her ideas will help in your life to lead.

“As you set out for Ithaka
hope your road is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.”
—“Ithaka,” by Konstantinos Petrou Kavafis

Troy burns.
By the heavy-laden ships, Odysseus seeks Nestor.
Honey-tongued Nestor pours smooth words:

“Hope your road is a long one? No!
Race for Ithaka! Do not delay.
We had to sail to Troy. Helen was no guest-gift.
But now, race back to Ithaka. Penelope of the cunning and crafty ways waits for you.
Athena says she spins her loom by day and unravels by night to delay the suitors.
Will you leave her doomed to the fate of Sisyphus?
Will you abandon her to the suitors? Is that the way of a noble king?
I race home for Eurydice.
Delay your journey for the sake of the journey? No!
Remember your son. Telemachus needs a journey, and needs you for it.
You sacrificed part of his journey when you sailed under stolen winds.
You engineered victory for us. Now race home for Ithaka.
What was triumph for if after the war you abandon your family?
Why defend Menelaus’ wife if you won’t defend your own?
I know you long for your homecoming.
It will not be your fault if Poseidon curses you.
It will not be your fault if Polyphemus traps you.
It will not be your fault if Calypso rapes you. You will escape.
I know you will make the most of your journey,
But you will not delay your homecoming for the sake of the journey.
As you set out for Ithaka hope that your road is a long one, full of adventure, full of discovery?
Nonsense! When you head home, ask the gods for a short and adventure-less voyage.
No more mania! You had enough adventure and instruction from life.
What? Don’t fear the Cyclops and angry Poseidon? You must fear them! Enough mania!
Don’t stop at every port on the way. What do you need of sensuous perfumes without Penelope?
Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey? No. Troy gave you the journey. Now race for Ithaka.
Ithaka has everything left to give you. We already have plenty of stories to tell of you.”

Crafty Odysseus hauls to his sea-blackened ship the mixing-bowl beautifully wrought of silver,
Won in a race against all the Argives save Achilleus, as Antilochus loads his prize, smiling.

O coffee! My coffee! The dreaded morn is here,
The time for sleep is over, make my fatigue disappear!
My duty calls, I cannot fall, and give in to the dark–
With you by my side I shall fight the tide and heed the morning lark.
But o cup! cup! cup!
What a tragedy I see,
Where now that I am fully up,
My cup sits there, empty.
O coffee! My coffee! ‘Tis you I love the most!
Pour over or percolate, just give me that roast.
Instant will do, I’ll take a cold brew,
Nothing will stop me from being with you.
Here potion! Dearest drink!
My cream awaits your heat.
You empower me to think,
Of more than just my sheets…

Give me wine and the ocean, and hyacinth hair
A casket of flotsam and crystalline care.
Speak of the currents in deep fluid blue and bring to the surface a mirror of you
Hers is the wave and quickening tide, touched by the moon I secretly hide.
Give me wine and hyacinth hair, ocean blue eyes and a soul to share
Sing in the night, swell with delight, crash and arouse this siren in fright.
Jetsam spill my heart to hear, the soft response of one so near
Echoes and eddies, visions and seeress, gather the pieces and wash up the fearless
Bring me wine, an ocean to share, the girl with the moon and the hyacinth hair.

I carry nine paper flags
labeled below
scrap paper, dry markers
and a dead hope.
Close I hold the fear they bring.
I cradle it.
I know where to place it
out of sight
so far I barely remember
its necessity. The anonymity
bites me in the ass.

She never knows what she finds
and brings to me like a little girl
with a bouquet of weeds,
of poison ivy.
She cries out
when I smack it from her hands,
skin going red and puffy,
eyes filling.

She doesn’t quite get yet
that some things are not meant for her hands,
that the pretty leaves
are hidden messages, propaganda,
meant to protect but turned sour.

I cleave to my colors –
why can’t she touch, hold, have?
Why am I ever the one to remind her she’s allergic?
Why can’t she just twirl
in her gauzy pink dress
and leave me in jeans,
cuffed at the ankle?

So it’s
1:30pm on a Tuesday and I’m runnin’
For my life
Down Fauntleroy full sprint
Dragging my poor dog behind me
Chased by a man dressed like a pirate
Threatening to beat me up
For no other reason than sometimes
We run out of our perscribed drugs
By the end of the month
And we start takin’ others
When all of a sudden these two
Lesbians swing open the back door of their
Silver subaru yelling
“Get in!” like they’re drivin the fuckin
Getaway car in a heist movie

We look out for each other okay?
The bouncers of the LGBT

Damn girl,
How many keys you got on that carabiner?
I walk around sounding like a goddamn
High school janitor
Got the
Key to the car I abandoned on the hwy
Key to the storage room
Inside of the storage room at work
Key to your straight best
Girlfriend’s heart
Spare key to my best friend’s beat up
‘98 4Runner

We look out for each other
But I look out for me, too

Don’t @ me with those fingernails
It’s Thursday afternoon at the TJs checkout
And you’re sizing me up like you
Think you know what you
Think I’m capable of
Ma’am I’m just bagging your groceries

I look up to see you smile
Tuck your hair behind your ear
Barbie pink acrylics and a
Fistfull of silver rings
Touch my hand n let it linger
As I hand you your receipt
Keep your claws to yourself
You’re not the girl for me

We look out for each other
We look up to each other

It’s 2:45am at an after party
Saturday night circa 2010
Sitting sandwiched between this het couple
The guy talkin bout how he could
Fix me
The girl sayin she’s always wanted to
Try
As if I’m a fuckin suit or something
In need of alterations
When this absolute bull of a dyke sits on the loveseat
Across this ocean of a rug between us
Leans back n pats the cushion next to her
And she talks to me like I fit in somewhere

Just the way I am
She makes me feel
Looked out for