What animated
Thoughts roil the brains of two men
Viewing that last slice?
What philosophical view
Empowers the man who wins?
(8/16/14)

Two yeshiva boys
Eyed the last lush tasty slice.
One snatched it and bit.
The other snarled, “impolite!”
The first smiled—“and you’re moral.”
(8/16/14)

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When business grapples humans by the throat.
When holy days, unceasing, bind our souls
To flagrant commerce based on anecdotes.

Why does a tale of helpful Indians
Create a four-day lapse in useful work,
Create a massive airline traffic jam,
Allow us to engorge as if berserk?

Then Kwanzaa, Christmas, Chanukah appear—
Emerge from mythic origins. Merchants
Wallow in divine nonsense, hold sales, cheer!
And wallets gasp at made up reverence.

Just as old age devours spirit, health,
So does this absurd season swallow wealth.
(11/26/13)

They’ve been there before,
Several times.

Why, I ask myself,
Are they submitting
(First class notwithstanding),
To the anguish
Of international flights—
The searches,
The suspect shoes,
Forbidden fluids,
Interminable hours
Locked in a plane?

In my heart I know
They would prefer
The simple pleasure
Of serene routine:
A movie, a play,
A pleasant dinner out
At that amiable
Nearby restaurant.

In my heart I know
The reason.
They sublimate
Their real desires,
Submit to discomfort,
Painful foreign holidays.

The women they’re attached to
Are too young.
(10/3/13)

Pray this! Buy that! Comfort and save your souls!
The foolishness they peddle is bizarre.
They use plain magic to attain their goals
But charge for access to their repertoire.

Take kaparot—atonement—now on sale,
When sinners, for eighteen bucks, purify,
Load their sins on chickens, when all else fails,
Recite a verse, slit their throats, cleansed! They sigh—

They’ve exercised their bible-based conceits—
Then give poor folks those tainted birds to eat.
(9/26/13)

Then evolution sets in, our comfort
Morphs to chic, and bright fashion looms—in charge!
I understand a well-filled shirt’s report,
Remain transfixed by deep décolletage,

But can’t explain why fashion ran amuck.
Jackets make sense, but why those notched lapels?
Shirts serve, but what’s the point of collars, cuffs?
Why three-inch heels on sexy demoiselles?

But, most of all, I wonder what cockeyed
Putz thought up the most outrageous, useless,
Idiotic, obligated, juiceless,
Weird and stupid fashion quirk: men’s neckties?
(9/14/13)

One day, an elder
Blew the cool
That age tends to invoke,
And emailed everyone he knew
Demanding that we boycott
A film because
Jane Fonda played a role.

Why? Because, disturbed,
She went to North Viet Nam,
Risked her life and status
Many years ago,
Attempting to assuage
Her country’s and her own
Bruised conscience.

That foolish elder fell
Before one mindless principle:
“Our country! In her intercourse
With foreign nations,
May she always be in the right;
But our country, right or wrong.”
“Wrong,” I guess, just doesn’t count.

The famous actress,
Driven by morality,
Believed: “My country, right or wrong;
If right, to be kept right;
And if wrong, to be set right.”
Who do we honor—amoral nationalists
Or a courageous woman, firm to set us right?

Who, finally, is the betrayer
Of everything America professes to portray—
The defender of an ugly
And illegal war that killed
Fifty-eight thousand U.S. troops,
Or the brave actress
Who condemned that ugliness?
(8/28/13)

They may have wondered,
Yet they thundered
Into that famous
Valley of death, because
Theirs was not to reason why,
Theirs was but to do and die.

Along with Yeats,
I used to think
We spiraled up and down.
I’ve read too much,
And lived too long,
Seen too much infamy—

I learned a god,
Upset by men,
Drowned every land-based thing
Except those on an ark.
And then invented holy war
That killed all living foes.

Another avatar, Allah
(Benevolent, and merciful),
Defined a special holy task
That cut the heads from infidels.
History, alas, is no spiral—
Just a dark flat line,

Vertical, dropping
Straight down.
(4/16/13)

Twenty-six people were murdered last week
By a bright, but awkward sociopath.
Twenty young children, were killed by a geek
Who added himself to his brute bloodbath.

None of us could figure it out except
That Christian evangelic Huckabee.
He knows why: “God was not present.” Inept
God-damned excuse! Then where the fuck was He!

Worse yet, that “interfaith” divine service—
Moslems, Jews, and Christians displayed their tools—
Some teary-eyed, some pompous, all nervous;
They’re probably not hypocrites, just fools.

No need to grieve, angelic spirits roam,
They gather up those tots, and bring them home—
Heal up your severed, blasted, splintered, hearts;
Your children rest with mythologic gods.
Trust us! Lords care for innocents who die
Believe! Believe! There is no need to cry.
So spoke those empty priests: “Believe, you’ll see!”—
Oblivious to their own irony.
(12/18/12)

Our commandant uses the first three rules
To make it plain that it’s a unique boss.
Forget those other gods, they’re foolish ghouls;
Vainly say my name? That brings down chaos!

Omnipotence aside, god needs its rest
Six days it labored on this universe.
It huffed, it puffed—no wonder it’s obsessed—
Demanding one day’s rest, all labor cursed.

Done with itself, it turned to other things
“Honor thy father and thy mother”—fine!
But what if they abuse and rape offspring?
We honor them despite such heinous crimes?

Next comes “thou shalt not kill.” That sounds humane.
And yet, before they even knew they’d sinned
By dancing round that golden calf, insane
Punishment ensued—three thousand stabbed, killed!

Graven images—damned—but what about
Thou shalt not kill—a principle set down
In that Testament replete with wipe outs—
Fierce holocausts produced by Yahweh’s frown.

Seven, eight, and nine justly ban distress
We shouldn’t cheat on wives, or steal, or lie.
But we must covet beauty and success
Earned by neighbors—how else escape our sty?

Forbid desire—essence of life’s rhythm—
And thus destroy our capitalism?
(10/26/12)

But, as the muddied chemicals
Trapped beneath the skull
Surge and ebb
Within those gray slimed coils,
A dark hole—
With brittle walls—
Forms
To imprison rage—
That strange venom—
The distillate
Of failure, pain, frustration,
And despair.

From time to time,
Packed too dense,
Those thin walls burst—
Smashed bones,
Splashed blood
Ensue.
And, stupidly,
We wonder:
Why? Why?
(7/28/12)