The cicada laughs

Wings like clouds

Mount the wind

Shoulder the blue sky

Beat a whirlwind

Setting off a six month gale

When the bird looks down

All he sees is blue too

Water piled up

Deep enough to

Bear up the big boat.

Looking up

The cicada laughs.


(Cut-up poem based on Chuang Tzu)


It was a really good Monday for being a Saturday. Nancy was on her whiskey diet. The elephant didn’t want to talk so he left the room. He was sure the Devil painted her blood red sparkly glitter. The old angel still enjoys his authority.

Nancy looked into the mirror on the wall and saw another person. It was her face, but someone else under the skin. Then she understood. She had just wanted a pet but ended up getting married.

Outside the raccoon attacked the trash. Let him eat. She looked up at the sky and saw a million dead stars. Her scream silenced the rowdy teenagers.

Choosing to do nothing is still a choice, after all. 



Eight hours from now

Life’s simple

pleasures will be


The mob will rule

The mind police sanction.

Pity the poor

Man who strays from

the designated path.

Eight days from now

We will greet friends by

ignoring them

condemn opponents for

Their secret thoughts

In our new reality.

Eight weeks from now.

The repeated gesture,

the quiet pause,

the attentive and,

encouraging nod,

the gracious thank-you,

and the measured response

Will be banned.

The willingness to stop and breathe

The desire to put the pressing

task aside and help.

That too will be


– Job


Urban types like to claim they know
It’s a cul-de-sac, dying, sad-face place,
But grass is green, homes are clean, neighbors wave hello.

Morbid teens desperately long to go
It’s killing me man, this too-safe place
Urban types like to claim they know.

Predictable writers imagine their prose
It lacks the raw nerve of the human race
But grass is green, homes are clean, neighbors wave hello.

Happy husbands drink beer slow
Far from the City and its rat race
Urban intellectuals just don’t know.

Content gardeners plant and sow
This is paradise, my Eden, this is grace
Grass is green, homes are clean, neighbors wave hello.

I’m suburbia, I’m an ordinary schmo
I love this peaceful, happy place
I hope urban types never know
Grass is green, homes are clean, neighbors wave hello.