mercredi 27 février 2008


My Mercedes dealership recieved me for

an appointment


filling a personal information update

with a free 120 point observation check

I accosted a seat in the client reception space

to meet a mechanical consultant

Seated adjacent were Dolce and Gabana and Hermes garbed

lawyers, rappers and middle of the riff raff

Impatiently we sat surrounded by

sterling of Mercedesrama:

watches, clothing articles and accessories

displayed unlike the run-of-the-mill garage

in true splendor

we waited staring at the chrome alloyed wheels

sipping on Starbucks coffee offered by the house valet

Then, my mechanical consultant arrived to determine

that an older mechanic had been requisitioned

meaning a few days wait to examine my 1990 series

I was passed a Mer-say-dees Cee Dee for easy listening

and offered a free car wash for the stress though

my partner would have appreciated the M-skin clinic

with an M-toothbrush

I was grateful for the big and small attentions

and as I pulled my low-cut denims to unexpose my butt

a reception consultant with eyes sparkling bid me a great day.

lundi 25 février 2008

The avalanche barrier builder

Used to be an avalanche barrier builder

an' some look at my gait think I still am!

My hips used to contract on those radical slopes

like able cow or mountain goat

'cept with hammer, saw an a bunch of gear

I worked alone and in teams

bangin' dem barriers into place

forcing me bones into awkward positions

the slope was my foe and my job

If my movements were the same the valleys


Osiris never a such a spectacle saw as me;

mere worker I chortled to myself

looking at a tiny village from below

My stickity fences did better than

girl scout cookies:

they held massive slabs of snow

otherwise ready to unleash like an attack dog

getting its order

taking with it the living and non-living
But conditions were tough, year after year we waged
battles with our union; an extra euro for every 100 meters
is all we got
Then, the snow melted
I drank a cup of tea on the unemployment line
Trying to conjure up other commercial ventures
for my barriers until
A day I was recycled to fix dams
my nose plastered against a 100 meter wall
tons of water on the other side
offered views unbeknownst.

jeudi 14 février 2008

The Hand Dryer

How many a time do we wash our hands?
Often, not often, for deliveries only?
Like it or not the skin gets wet

But nowadays, since the invention of the jet engine
Both in public and in private
for a light charge
we can -free of microbe-infested damp towels
dry (our) hands using ho-hot air!

For decades with their notorious punching ball knobs
and ear-piercing wind tunnel sound effects
those metalic machines incited us to clap and slap
(in a lab Chimps remained quiet to this spectacle)

Until the now newborn droplets ran off the skin like
assylum seekers seeking cover

And then one day, not so far into the recent past,
a new master hand blow-dryer was developed
with the intent to eliminate all clapping and
to whirl the hot air
where no hot air has gone before:

between gangly fingers and
up wrinkles or creases

The H2o is now ejected off the surface
like a fighter plane says au revoir to its pilot

Today, we are saved from all that needless hand shaking
Today, we can wash our hands and dry them
like dignified

Valentines Poem

At the Geant hypermarché
this morning
I did a double take
(the electrical signal to my neck muscles I
executed with extreme rapidity)

A man, unshaven, walking with outward legs
as some Balenchine dancers do
With a sure stride he directed himself to the
check out
He carried in his strong arm a stuffed heart
with two legs

A Valentine's present for his beloved!
As the cashier -recently on strike- pressed her scanner
against the bar code in
-A laissez-faire sans hesitation vide de nature sexuelle-gest
My neurons ruminated over the unfair trade behind 3rd world
scences where the labour intensive invisibly exploited



In the name of Love

Yet in this absurd feel-good moment I smiled

It was my turn to pay

Happy Valentines!

mardi 5 février 2008

The Folder

The folder
For want of originality
The freedom of tracing an original
unconfined, unincumbered line

He sought
under his sun and moon
shelter from
rigid bindings
plastic files
white out
paper clips
and folders

Such was his life
ziz zagging the untrodden
followin the Whim as supreme order
the improvised scatt
a tra-la, a la-tra

In merriment he fondered avoiding cartesian thought
"The universe existed and that was that"
Unknowingly his fuse burnt down
and as the comb rakes through the hair
setting what is unset
renewing a lost alignment
he was faced with a choice:

Living in the fog or saying "adieu" abstration
His eyes swelled with tears
Because in his world deemed with no sense
being the last bastion gave him no honor
He sang out "Humpty Dumpty"
as he reached for a paper-clip.