"It's about words, and words are all I have…"

jesus was a jesusfreak

my 1st husband had a styptic pencil  +phylacteries

my 2nd a jagged cross made from nails  +red in his

viking beard   #1 a jew  #2 a jubu  his father George

considered him buddhist  i see thru the Jesus to his

inner ju


the bu refers to a spaced-out hippie quality   perfect for

an apocalypse we are finding   as in:  Covid who?


good with a quip  +circumcised (tmi?!)  but what i realize

more+more with age  is that: #1 + #2  are a continuation

a bromance of ape   +Jesus died for my parent’s sins

not mine



Winter 2021

i have max baer’s thighs


and this is my max baer moment  yours too  if you u want it

aren’t we all max right now?  fighting that schmeling of a virus          (clunk?)

baer is rated #22 on the list of: 100 greatest punchers of all time


i aspire to that list  as i list about in these ronatimes  like a drunken

sailor  popeye needs rehab  +my old coviddodger mum  happens to

have popeye elbow  but not a full beard


she who is finding it difficult to give up    on being alive   my mother

will be beatified   first came kitchenheadfuck   followed closely by

stains  the real human stain  comes from dropping food onto clothing

urine in elevators  +hallways


(hey if I don’t chronicle these societal ills  who will?   you?)


then came care  in places where  non-weight bearing bathing is

on the feature sheet   now we come to the CNN years  +with her

whipsmart mind  she’ll tell u why  Trump is everyman  and if the

bubba had balls  she’d be  Max Baer  my mother



winter from hell   2021


the real deal

wrote my fave satirist  George W. Saunders  of

Booker prize fame  and he wrote back!  husband

concerned his trippy wisdom would steal my heart


but my heart is firmly with le bron  +i have clearance

George remains my muse  along with Cormac  in his

response to my worshipful missive  George intoned:


what is apparent and what is real are not necessarily the same


( don’t forget he’s a satirist  right!)


So here is my list of what is apparently real:










+what is real real:





fidelity is  apparently real

ok gotta go!

zoom date with Trae Young

in five



Winter 2021

my brother wrote the killer line in this poem*

i was never free  not for one second   well maybe

writing a poem at Bacchanal in Nola  husband+a bro

drinking ghostriders  then later showing Monk Boudreaux

my pocket pig🐷


did u know pigs represent fecundity  big time?   piggy

banks   just a bastardization  of the fecund goddess

pennies from heaven?   or worshipping mammon?


*(here comes that killer line)


but  if i cover my eyes  can u still see me?   can u see me

cutting the last cord  that keeps me in captivity  umbilical

first cut   then quickly fused to matter   final cut will be a

fucking rodeo


with Mark  the Rifleman’s son presiding   + Rabbi Monson too

he who said: every year after 70 is a miracle!   and also

during my Jewish divorce:

if he wants to remarry   he pays half   no free rides  


but Rabbi   i cracked him open!   Monson grabbed my collar hard

 if you give it for free  you slave in a kitchen  

husband in question has yet to claim his ghett


so should i charge him?  or ice him?   if i cover my eyes  maybe you won’t

see me collecting   the schvartzgelt   this poem is not PC


Winter 2021


*JMA married in the same basement room of my ghett should begin his memoir posthaste

i’m a man of wealth+taste

he had yellow hair  +a wicked combover  a swiss cheese-ey elvis

face strangely pitted  bloated  bugeyed  the wife a mail order bride

with fangs    they’re gone now  crawled back under the rock from

whence they came


but america will never be the same   74+ million  deplorables  some

with long guns +horns  crawled out too   grunting   now forcibly

separated from his de base   by the stolen election   he weeps   as

Mel tells her pallid son:  be best  and go back to your room





Winter 2021’s lonely at the bottom..


the covidvaccine+the doctor from mars

my unique identifier was  KMA  !  at the covid vaccine clinic

where i scurried just yesterday  every aspect was a test  test

your mettle  your herdishness  your commitment to not dying


dr. vanderbeeek was cheeky  rubbed my deltoid hard  so hard

that i went into ecstatic confessions  re: David Bowie on my tee


at one point v.beeeks hand slipped from the ubermassage   to

david’s face atop my left boob  (ew)  +our eyes met over germy

masks   later when i told a brother  he wondered if i’d gone crazy

likely the manic-y  delivery




later when i returned home to husband  afibrulate +supine  with one eye

on the tv  he twitched spasmodically  to my tale of v.beeek’s slimfingers

+ tenderness       (*mums the word on his 10 calls to my cell today)


so  who among u would be surprised at this juncture  to see spaceships

descending   or horny doctors with crepey handskin     stroking??






Winter 2021   ..would it kill u to put on a little Nivea?..



i asked father who his favourite cowboy was   (he was mine)

he said  Tom Mix   back in those days  i loved cowboys with a

passion too big for a small girl  but i did   Mark the rifleman’s

son visited my room of an evening   +when father took me to

meet him at maple leaf gardens  i swooned  +swanned around

like ginalolofuckingbrigida



Tom Mix and his horse rode the shadow range, punishing evil-doers. 

But Tom never kissed the heroine. He seemed very much in love with

his horse.  (Al Purdy  1993)



Winter  2021

..daddy was way better looking than tom..

+would have highly approved of gina..

can u hear me hear u

have u heard of mindfulness meditation?   it’s a new religion

for the body/sensory dead  21st century humans  learning to:

see  smell  taste  touch  +hear   with alacrity


with slow  ness

with numinosity

with a pinprick  of passion


these folks are the living dead  not exactly zombies (they were once alive)

no  these drones are dead to  frissonosity  made dead by: tech meets fame

meets social media  (+now distancing)


so how will anyone know they’re alive post-covid?  when taste+smell loss  are

not signals of an impending mortuary visit   let’s face it   if u have to suck on

a fig  for 10 minutes  to know the ambrosial  u might as well start digging your

own grave


all work+no play  make the modern human  a dullwitted void   this has never

been my issue  quite the opposite  poets see purple  in fig-ecstacy   smell

earth  at 30 below   now masked  even the smile  is an autopilot reminder  of

the deadness in alive


post-covid   survivors will return to smiling vacantly   at every  tom  dick +hairy

while millions of dead  will have sewn-on smiles  like the ones on some people’s

masks    +we will remember the days when we woke up screaming



How the noises stopped. And so did the terror. It was ended. But the 

memory doesn’t end. It stays, hovering on the edge of consciousness

where the beasts with onion heads may still be waiting. (Al Purdy 1993)



Winter 2021

on a dark manor hiway

their childhood homes are being sold  +they weep at roadsides

approaching 30  with simple grins   i remember that time  in my

prime   i’d moved on by then  living in semi-sin  with #1


but that house  sold on the free market  is nail-tethered   + in

dreams  when sailors are busy elsewhere  there is  the HOUSE

old uncle morty built   the emotionally crippled brother  of our



morty loved cigs +smokey scotch  died of throat cancer  after

spending 40 yrs. on a leather couch  in pj’s  but hey  i am not

morty’s keeper  + digressions bring night weasels


the HOUSE appears  all 1950’s+backsplit  but it is the garage

always the garage  that i find myself in  dustbin  broken cars

dead cigars  horsey accoutrements   daddy was a ramblinman


we found adoption papers there  (no not the asian bros)  up in

a trunk   +aladdin briefly fondled our redheaded friend ron  but

the genie in the trunk  rent a hole the size of  say   montreal

in the fabric of our nativity scene


+we still get dragged back there  where the dustgrime is perma

but we’re in the process of a massive clean up  sanitize the family  ghost

vaccinate the shit outta them him  +would someone throw out the

dead rabbit in the corner  fer chrissakes


i’d thought he’d fled!

the horror  the horror




Winter 2020  ..he’s about to be born..

what light?

shit! it’s the spaceship  loud swoosh with zzhhh  outside my

window  at 4:13 a.m.   i knew they would come one day   too

much Neil Young at 14  ok  i know your minds are racing ahead  to probes


probing questions asked around my bed  led by one with

round head  all corona +spikey  (no not iggy)  why do people in

their late 90’s  keep the lights on 24/7    WHY?


injections of alien vaccine should u not be full of answers

one gormless guy with yellow hair says: this one was made in 190 days

is largely untested   +u may become sterile


oh  so it’s not immunize the herd

it’s  sterilize the herd   (cause yer still fucking peasants as far as i can see)


wow   an even smarter strategy  than the one child policy

but all i could come up with was:  they cling to the spacetime

continuum   as to their dead mother’s hand  darkness is not an old friend  ditto silence


i have to say it stung   it was a long q-tip like device

+ they shoved it pretty far in


Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night. (Dylan Thomas)

..the other dylan




Winter 2020


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