Receipts

I wonder what the world would think
if they knew Sigmund Freund used his clients cash
to buy mountains of coke. Or
if they knew Herbert Hoover preferred a sash
on a prom dress to a tie. Or
if they knew Hemingway took an advance
to slash it at gay bars.

How many receipts littered floors
filled with Parisian whores
as Franklin spoke of simple things
while sucking on those lady's rings.

What surprise awaits seldom few
when they realize the parts that grew
atop poor Joseph Merrick's skin
was the love of journals scribbled in.

I wonder what the world would think
if they knew conservatives used taxpayer pliers
to pry open Thai boys. Or
if they knew liberals used community dollars
to fund revolutions abroad. Or
if they knew no man was safe
with ticker tape strangling him.

I wonder if the day will come
(As it will to everyone)
When my receipts
say something sick of me.
I wonder if that day will ring me free.

Entree

Through lyre does liar be,

Through fires desire sees.

The dire dyer sires Sires

Wired criers on amplifiers.

Pious pyres burn entire

Totaled tires tire liars.

Though denier I hire thee,

Build higher, mire apologies.

I Knew Him, Mr. Pickles

This eulogy for a stranger, oh Pickles!

Swore I off this day that folds in coats

of warmly minted bad breath.

It makes me cringe when hinges

of badly positioned internal rhymes

squeak like weak meat picnics!

Give me the veil, the tarnished toilet,

let me vanquish a generational hangover

and purge me of my dear

beloved cat

Mr. Pickles.

Oh, this finale for a midget!

It's small hands flailing like plastic bags

breakdancing in the wind.

How I wish for a new day

full of awful British accents

and a battalion of toast

to spread over my dear

beloved cat

Mr. Pickles.

Oh, this banana crouton catchphrase!

Peeing in the snow may write a name

but the mountain won't memorize the alphabet.

And every haiku

Has to be about nature

Extra points for death.

Oh, I knew him, Mr. Pickles!

I knew his butter knife shape

frozen, shameless, caught in a revolving

door of temptation.

RHUBARB! RHUBARB! RHUBARB!