Good Penmanship is a Sign of a Soiled Mind: Don't Spit on the Welcome Mat

"Cassie, which pony do you want to ride?" "The coral stallion with the cracked blue eye!" "Give Daddy the light saber, and I'll make the pony fly!" "Higher than the sky, Daddy?" "As high as you can fly!" four years ago, a wish to a fountain was made for a daughter, but he threw in a dime because he knew some day he'd need the quarter.

dancing a waltz tame and corruptible outpouring of feeling before the continuation of dreaming improvisationally

For Halloween 1982, I was Lumberjack E.T. I had a plastic mask, Dad’s purple and black flannel shirt, Grandpa’s red suspenders and construction boots. Mom’s contribution was the rejection of my request to carry a dulled axe. After devoting my kindergarten years to the daily consumption of paste, she would no longer tolerate, nor would her weak, weak heart endure, any more soberly admonitory and perfectly creased notes of concern from my teachers. Grandma suggested I carry a whisk. I went to school with the E.T. mask, the shirt, the suspenders, the boots, and the whisk, prepared to change into my costume after lunch for the Halloween Parade. I couldn’t stop thinking about the whisk, how inappropriate it seemed. Then this thought would be scolded by the Other Powerful, More Powerful Thought: Mom’s Weak, Weak Heart. Shame, shame, shame on me. After lunch, I changed into my costume and discovered the eyeholes on the mask were too small. I used the classroo...

this poem will never be finished her grace, gentle to calm an outstretched and anxious palm, quiets all storm of memory, her own tide awash a melody of opaque recognition that, by definition, is a hazy spell no slumber can break, no number of make-believe apparitions, to wrap her heart in such toughness as to clear the lane of her progress from debris, her grace unto me is the pinpoint of light that steadies and readies my own night as it descends and unbends, her grace, gentle and calm.

dawn comes with a stomach ache. I clear the calendar with my sleeve. I step in cat pee. winter rime? You're jogging early. They'll ground the balloons but not Stan and Ollie. That's the only meat I get on this holiday. I eat beef, I eat saints, I eat seers, I eat further. My plate was never full; I need tomatoes, so I ate nothing but homicidal side-eye from Mom. "Whatever it is, I'm against it." When you turn seven, you need to be exposed to Groucho Marx. That's my best Thanksgiving memory: one sleepless night and one PBS marathon of Marx Brothers movies. My father stayed up late to watch and record Jimmy Cagney movies, one of which was accidentally taped over to record Wrestlemania IV. Men on a mission find men on a mission. The courthouse where I work has several occupancies. The offices hold volumes of state appellate reports and mouse and insect glue traps; The deadlier are the legal tomes. When Santa turns his sleigh in...

I. I sold the glock and bought a crib. The glock 48 was perfect! So's my daughter...so far. II. Who ordered the Creole interpreter? Marshal, ask the clerk and steal  some kisses from his bowl.  We won't need the Creole for tomorrow, but the bowl's nearly empty. Court's not really in session without a full bowl of Hershey's Kisses. I know my rights. Mr. State Attorney? Affirmative . III. Mr. State Attorney, all my cases are ready. Isn't that marvelous? (Dad noises) IV. Defendant's name is Oval, but the guy's shaped like a pear. And he works for Amazon. Another one from Amazon! Why do all the meth-heads and parole violators work for Amazon? Amazon's cleaning up the neighborhood . V. I've dreamed it. So it was. It was a fingersnap, hit the music and go. I was boozin' on Mars. Bring the liquor, bring the gravity, make it happen. Chase a Monster with a shot of Crystal Palace, no more worries. ...