At The Corner Of

A mermaid shakes
in her salmon-skin dress.
Not Novak’s, she says,
or Kovak’s, or Blowvak’s.
On the street she finds
a wall with bumps on it,
barnacles riding
a whale shark of a building
beached at the corner.
O, God, she says,
I worried about
those humans.

17-syllable Poem

      you can walk right out it
      if you’re not looking
      second-story window

Going Bald

       They’re not as sharp as they used to be

                                                 razors.

Dali’s mustache appears on the table

                              then disappears

            up my buddy’s nose.

                                             A few hairs

          fall back to the ground,

                                       crashing w/ the compunction

                                                    of small cars.

Red Light Mist

       Thumb spa
       in the mtns.
       2:30 in the morn
       We stick to sunsets
          with resinous no
          reasonous no
          treasonous no
          reasonable thoughts
       Impossible impossible
                gibberish
       By the window w/  blankets
       & Jackson Pollock’s reddest paint;
       His stitches of lust my scab,

          Part of everything I want, a
       Desk & pool & sirius
       satellite radio.
       Sleep good shepherds
          wise men
       This is not Cologne
       This is not Miami
       This is J. P.
       skywriting
       This is me on the mend

Corner Buddha

I could use some meds
           said the dharma junkie
           to an empty avenue.

What do you need?
           asked an eavesdropping dealer,
Codeine, ultram, vicodin?

Meditations, I mean.

Oh, said the dealer,
          sitting on the corner and opening his palms.
Meditations are free.