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  • They’re chatting

    they're chatting
in front of the register
lit softly   by streetlight
    and if you only saw
the look on his face
    her back   to you
       her hands
on   her hips
         straight black hair
sliding over
         casual
tilt
       you'd never guess 
    she was an
eighty-year-old widow.

  • Order, two drinks:

    espresso, green tea.
    I mean, seriously.
    How much
more
married
    can you be?

  • x-post: And the monkey, and the vortex, and the money of it all

    There’s an all-new audio-fun episode ready for your easy-downloading goodtimes over at ye olde Monkey Vortex Radio Theater. Drop by and check out The Winsor McCay Sketchbook: Money, written by Tony “King” Jonick and starring Bill “also King” Cassel” and Alana “Lady-King” Guy Dill. And remember: “It’s the most fun you can legally pack into a 2.2 MB mp3!”

  • wandering thought

       please don't
call
on me.
                         I'm
writing poetry.

  • Sunday, Midtown

    Trying to cover
the three of us
with one umbrella.
    My naked hand out for a cab
full-body soaked as that
car roared by 
    and I was wet and cold and pissed.
    Then giving up
counting our change
to catch the crosstown bus
    climbing onboard
paying our fare
and me
       surprised to find it
half-empty in the rain.

  • Banana Hands

    I think most of us have been there at one time or another. I know I have. And I don’t mean that metaphorically either.
    Here’s a piano/vocal song about those times, and what we were thinking. And maybe even a little about what we were feeling. Standing there. All banana-handed.
    It’s less than one meg, not even 900K really. Because you deserve a quick-downloading song about being banana-handed. What with all the good works you do. So enjoy! And watch the skies, -CV
    Press Play to play.
    playtime::56 seconds
    file specs: just south of 900K mp3

  • Three-year-old salmon

    Yesterday
    I really let him jump on me
    let him throw himself into me
    like some red-headed salmon
    and me the current
    his feet slapping the waves.
    He was laughing, slap-laughing
    and flying, slap-flying.
    And then I was the sand
    and he was the ocean
    and he stretched me apart and he wore me down
    and he sent me
    streaming
    out to
    sea.

  • A poem one of my ancestors might have written, but I feel this way too

    When it's all clouded over
thick, sheep's belly wool
blocking out stars and sky
you have to think:
Shit!
We're screwed!
      Now we'll never see the aliens
when they
come to eat our
brains out.

  • He talks

    He talks in a low hum
    with no air between the words.
    He fills all the space.
    He fills all the space.
    Hefillsallthespace.
    He’s like crickets.

  • Lunchbreak

    He sat down sobbing
    into his hands.
    50 cents
    and he wanted them
    to give him a dollar for it.
    Retarded. “I hate math.”
    And I just wanted to have lunch.
    Then he stood, bearded
    burly Thor
    retarded.
    “I hate math!” again
    looking back
    through his beard
    over one thick shoulder.
    And he thundered off.