It’s Not You–It’s Me

These excuses never worked, anyway.  The dogs didn’t eat my homework.  Check was in the mail.  I never received my bill.  It has been an extremely busy day, and I’ll leave it at that.


Sorry blog

I don’t know how

To break it to you

Words fail me right now

You’re not first on my priority list

Hope you don’t mind

It’s yard work

Washing the car

Cleaning inside of car

And only for today

Where does this

Leave you and me?

Same place as before

Time will tell

Hope you can see it

In your heart to forgive


Ding-Dong You’re Dead

What would the neighbors think?

Gossip flew all day long

Enormity of non-conformity

Explained especially for me

Of course they were–they always were

Refused, till owls hooted in hell

Whiskers looked good on catfish

Butter on butterflies–not so much

Old fashioned passion, preferred it that way

Nobody could see into heart’s tinted windows

Mysteries of the soul

Suburban legends

Kept doing what they were doing

Until, ding-dong, they were dead

Did anyone know anyone, anymore?


Political Redundancies

Blank faces

Gaunt and hollow

Defended things

That didn’t need defending

Conscious resonance

Suspicion, paranoia

Bitter pills swallowed

Criticized, overanalyzed

Made outlandish claims–with no feelings

What?  Did pollsters hear something?

Retreated to dizzying heights

Their eminent domains perched

Somewhere in the Dorothy Kilgallen Hills

Contemplated lives as speed bumps


concrete chunk

It’s a slow news day.  What’s going on in the neighborhood?  Cracked concrete–that’s what–at the end of my street is a displaced chunk of concrete.  It washed twenty feet from its mooring in torrential rains almost a year ago.

Happy Birthday, concrete chunk!  May you return home before this same time next year.  I hope that soon, some dysfunctional entity figures out what to do with you.  Why are dysfunctional entities so dysfunctional?  Because they’re the worst of the best, and the best of the worst; they’re still better than nothing.

Max, my Australian Blue Heeler, must have negotiated a secret contract.  He won’t go for walks if the temperature is over sixty degrees.  Yesterday morning, it was seventy–today, it’s twenty-nine.  He hates warm weather, or maybe, because he’s now five–is getting lazy.  Go with me or don’t go with me–make a decision.

What is it with the humble porch light?  Porch lights are used to describe different conditions in jokes.  “His house lights are on, but his porch light is out.  His porch light is sort of dim.”  My porch light is working fine, but there are a lot of moths flying around it this morning.

A few weeks ago, a story circulated through the media, about cremation ashes, from dearly departed loved ones, being formed into diamonds.  A grieving family could possibly remember their weird Uncle Harry as a precious gem.  The point–in spite of the weirdness thing, at least his life counted for something.  Will strong, macho, he-men types, have the option to have their ashes pressed into industrial diamonds?

It isn’t so bad, here, though–not as bad as those legislators in Utah have it; wrestling with the medicinal marijuana issue.  A DEA spokesperson, testified that in the past, rabbits have gotten stoned from feeding on fields of marijuana.  They, then became lazy and didn’t run from humans and predators.

My question–what happens when these, slow, stoned rabbits are eaten by predators?  Will predators, then, also become stoned and lazy?  Where does the argument go from there?  What’s going on in your neighborhood this weekend?  Have a happy Friday and great weekend?