This Hell has your Nameplate on it
(For C.B)And there you are Hankstuck in that hot ass stuffy roomwithout so much as a beeror a smoke with all those miserable smug little 3rd rate poetsthat were always calling you at all hoursshowing up at your doorstep with bags of beerwith a spiral notebook full of their latest shitty poems.And the ones who wrote you long impassionedletters about how nobody wanted to print their stuffand how their “stuff” was as good as your “stuff”or anybody else’s “stuff” printed last month inendless small presses that nobody ever heard about except themselves. No.There’s no escaping this one.No ducking out earlyaround the corner for a cold bottle of reliefand maybe a ballgame, a horse race, something on TVor anything good on the jukeboxor even a stray hooker who was bored and was looking for a little conversation. Back in the old days on earthafter you finally got luckyand publishedand had acquired just enough reputationto lecture at universities and overseasholding court at good paying gigsjust enough celebrity to be able tolive pretty damn comfortablyand could tell them all to go straight to hell. Man.Just guess where you ended upand with who ??? So nowYou’re really fucking stuckIn eternity no lesswithout so much as a picket prose fence sentencebetween you and their sorry astral asses. And of course they still love you.Well some of them.The rest, the other halfhate you.Because they blame you for wastingtheir lives following your dreamand not their own. And yes.They know every line you’ve ever written.Every single word by heart.And in between their newest poem aboutspending eternity in unrealized glory,they recite one of yoursas they follow you around all over hellat all hours into every smoldering fucking corner. Is this poetic justice, Hank ? You would sadly have to shakeyour head in agreement here. You always wrote about the infinity of paybacksthat awaited us all for better or for worseone day.. Just one more last trip to the track.Forget a Trifecta.You’d settle for just onemore muggy hung over afternoonwith the betting card in your handeither up a couple of bucksor your wallet in the crapperknowing there was at leastwhen it was all overyou could always count ona ride back home on the coast highwayback to your quiet apartmentwith a little classical music on the radioa bottle of wineand your “typer” all set up ready to roll. Instead it’s hard now to see anything there for youexcept the light towers being extinguishedin sequence silentlyone by oneas the chilly fog from the Pacific rolls across the darkened infieldafter the last race and you walk down theconcrete corridor of the exit tunnelwith all the losing betting slips scattered across the concreteof hell like 2 dollar rose petals.
11/13/Revision New Work
Fall 2022 Revised 11/4/22
Out to Eat
I’ll be your Sever in Terrible Now
Barb-B- Que Gridville
Today’s Special is Earth
Comes Raw-Rare- Medium-Well Done
Burnt or Fricasseed all w/ au jus
Side Dishes are France Fried or England Boiled Potatoes
Or Nuclear Russian Dictator Tots
Soup or Salad stressed Infrastructures Powers grids overloaded in Fossil Fuel
Depleted water/Sewer Systems and Supply train Sliders (in season only)
Black Out Terms apply
Call for Prices
Or scan the Bar Code on the menu
Please note the management regrets
We are not offering anything other than
Just Desserts here at the Terrible Now
September Shorts 22 (for stump the Frank)
If there is someone whistling
In a commercial ?
Failure to launch
Too bad about that
Latest Moon Rocket
Had to take it back to the shop
Leaky gas tank
Reports estimate the repair bill
Will set you back 1.5 Million
I suggest some Flex Seal Spray
And perhaps a little Viagra
Generic is ok.
Senior Citizen Environment Report
Of late it has occurred to me
I’m building an aquarium
For my self
Where I only feel comfortable
Submersed in an atmosphere
Of Beer and Cigarettes
The Grudge Match Meditations (for all those that need them)
So What the hell do you do
When you want to hold a Grudge
And of course why.
Dance with It ?
DW-40 it ?
Maybe some Grudge light
Might do the trick.
Just where should one hold the Grudge properly ?
By the handle?
By the foot ?
By the yard ?
Is there a preferred amount of pressure to be applied
How do you left go of Grudge ?
Just say Fuck it
And bury the hatchet
And the Grudge with it
9/22/22 Short Subjects
Ever notice that women
Seldom show up unannounced
With an automatic weapon
To exterminate a room full of strangers ?
They don’t have to
Preferring to pick your ass off
One at a time.
Look here smartass
Thanks for the relationship advice
But I’ve got house planets
That have lasted longer
Than your first marriage.
This poem wants to put my tongue in your ear.
Ten years after
We gave each other a taste of better-
I’ve become a Sunday Masturbator
What did you become?
This poem remembers when you put
Your tongue in my ear. 2/22
White Men Can’t Stink- (for CB)
So I was in the LIRR Train Station
In Jamaica the morning after a real horrific bender
The night before that ended at 4 in the morning
With some Pakistan food
All I wanted was to catch the 8:37 out to Ronkonkoma
Then out to Green Hampton.
The biological imperative came upon me
Suddenly in waves without warning
And I held my cheeks clenched in a slippery knot
And barely made it waddling to the bathroom stall.
To the bowl and exploded a fire hose of liquefied fudge
And then I wanted out of there fast before somebody else came in.
No such luck-
This Spade come in the door and recoiling in horror at the stink
Exclaimed in incredulous disgust and exasperation
Man- What the fuck is wrong with you ?
I shrugged and told him to relax
Didn’t he know
White Men Can’t Stink.
Uncollected Dream Song 9/22
You Dreamed to me as I dreamed to you.
Night time behind Meyers Bar
JD walking towards me with her
By his side.
She had a pink Dildo positioned
Sideways across her lips like it was a Bit to spit
When we spotted each other in amazement
Rushed towards each to lock in a passionate embrace
Like couple of lost magnets fusing
I could hear/feel her heartbeat clicking
Against my chest
And she whispered in my ear
I’ve never been the same since you bastard
Later her husband was at the wheel driving the car.
She didn’t look like herself anymore
But her daughter did sitting in the backseat
With her feet in JD’s lap
Dream Dawn Whitman-
Jet black coal hair just below the ear lobes
In bangs cut above thick eyebrows
Pug nose black eyes bridge of freckles across the
Red tube top
White knee socks just below the kneecaps
Brundy checked pleated skirt
Black push up bra with cleavage
Black Patient Leather Dance Slippers
Rust Golf ball Areolas pointing 36 size breasts
Roast beef hanging Clitoris protruding
With a pearl G spot centered Roast Beef
between the cunt curtains
Meet me in Post Card Isle
Of the old Colonel Drug Store
With those full Pouty lips
Sulking while biting her lower lips
Smirking Fuck you ?
You had your chance in 6th Grade
There Never Will be- Enough again
Toe curling Orgasms
Getting lost Being found
With a guilty party
Resort Motel pools in October in Montauk
That Park next to dog runs across from the Flatiron Building
As the Chrysler Building night light shown in the window
Of The Bedford Hotel
There will never be another you
Or me. 7/22
The other day of my Rubber Eden Cyber Vanity Mirror of Gridville
Somebody sent me an anonymous message from the contact section
It was very brief and right to the point-
Just who in hell do you think you are ?
Of course I responded immediately writing
most days I think I’m an alcoholic jerk off but-
And I have references-