The Loneliest Person on Earth

Read me like
I’m the smile behind the robber’s mask,
who steals sorrow, the Prince
at the masquerade ball who
yearns for the honest girl, Cinderella, and
who is the beast that is redeemed
to save the Beauty that

is an honest child of truth who can sing
as if the rose were the only flower of nature, and

the Great Horned Owl did not break
the spine of a fox with its talons and eat it.

I would stop cruel Nature and
find you who reaches out
to be a Princess from a Kingdom where

I will have sanctuary if
you can find me where I
live in space alone with deep cravings.

How’s Everyone Doing?

To do or to dew?
That is the questionable.

I’m not doing anyone at this moment in thyme.
There is thyme for oregano and time for love,
only heaven knows when
the day is like a cheery cherry, covered in
elegant chocolate that feeds
the taste buds of do’s and don’t’s
that toot a horn that calls out “do” for
fools and others who wait for
anything that is not done for.

Forlorn to do, forlorn to not, for
she is gone like a cherry pie
stolen in the night with
only the pie pan playing like a tambourine.

Wow Babe

Turning around
you’re looking at me yeah

Turning around
I love you

Smiling yeah,
I see you

Oh you’re looking

Ha, I know it
turning around you love me

Shout shout
I’ve got no doubt

Dance babe
hey yeah oh

Hay yeah baby cute love
turning around I love you

Hey yeah I see you
Hey yeah you forgive me

Got you to laugh again —
Dance!
I love you.

hey hey hey hey
kiss

Bark

Unknowns smashed into
the little old lady’s
Goode Notion Shoppe

Her old dog deftly
bit vandals well, teeth
into the foe fight, so
they left

she stayed overnight
pleased to rest a while,
thought they’d be back

She had a glass of wine
tapped her cane 13 times
and counted life in dog years.

In the morning
the dog howled, though
later the coroner came to see.

They were curled up
passing away in dog years
and the little Shoppe closed.

Mother Charlotte’s Poison Pen to her Daughter

Dear Daughter,
You got shoes and jewels
for what?

I told your idiot Father
not to let you
go to radical college
to major in
socialism and boyfriends

You’re not liberating:
you’re looting.

Your brother is
dead in Afghanistan. Suppose
he’d want you to have
well heeled shoes to walk in.

Why don’t you
steal something for me —

Yes, please,
go anarchy shopping
at the liquor store

Darling daughter,
why don’t you
rip out my liver, and
fry it in onions with
liberation olive oil

Your idiot Father
let me open my Boutique
and now your comrades
have burnt it to the ground

I’m glad for you
that your professor
gave you an A+ grade

Onward to paradise,
and take my heart.

Grandma Knows a Spy from Wuhan

Blacklight In Wuhan (Draft 1)

In the clearings
hauntings inhere
dear unfinished things

They’ve finished cleaning
the blood off the floor of the salon

Grandma’s voice
screams in the night;
her pen pal is lost, yes

Grandma is dead.
her hair dresser too–
by video two funerals
and the autopsy is done
no toxins of the ordinary kind.

Everyone misses Grandma.
Many knew her faux pas cinema
— been odd times.

Grandma had a Chinese pen pal
a foreign medical student
passing the USMLE
passing the TOEFL and everything.
Her friend’s now a doctor
now a scientist.

Many times
Grandma was down in a funk:
Something about the Great Depression,
the War and the slaughter again.

So many screams in the night:
“Where is my Wuhan doctor girl?”

There is so much beauty yet
in the quixotic world: the
flowers and designs
on the body bags.

Grandma told us
days never come lightly
when the night overwhelms
before the elegant cry

Such beauty in a sad world
my Grandma always said, is
just decoration, and
she favored flower designs
on chic shopping bags

Let the designers rise to the task
to make pretty body bags
to rise to praise, and yea
by the dawn’s surly knights
oh hey can you see our deeds
in the corona of the Sun
particles of sunset and doom.

Everyone misses Grandma.
Many knew of her, some
knew her. It’s been odd times.

Grandma told wild stories.
Very entertaining. She was
not distant ever
regardless of rules

Grandma stabbed herself to death
with a scissor in a beauty salon, and
the owner was shot to death while
grabbing a policeman’s gun.
It’s the usual.

Grandma left me
a stack of papers
from the pal, now a doctor.
Grandma loved
her dear mystery friend
from Wuhan. She claimed
her friend worked in a laboratory.

I have the correspondence
written in Chinese, and
the blacklight she had
asked me to buy for her.

The letters came slowly
sometimes through Hong Kong
and Singapore, but sometimes
through Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan

Grandma was fond
of her Wuhan girl
as she called her.

Just before her death
she reminded me that
it wasn’t important
to read the beautiful
Chinese calligraphy
because it was unimportant

It was important to read
the invisible secret writing
written between the lines.

Read in the dark
she had said.

New letters continued
to come from the
missing Wuhan girl.

I read them in the dark
with the Black Light.

Apparently, Wuhan girl is
patient zero for the world, and
they are hunting for her

They finished cleaning
the blood off the floor of the salon

I don’t know how to start or finish this draft

I started an outline but I haven’t found a rhyme or rhythm scheme I can use. I don’t feel inspired. I was going to look for random rhymes or song forms but I don’t feel like doing anything with this:
Blacklight In Wuhan (Part 1, draft 0)

Many times there have been
screams in the night
when Grandma’s spirit asks
about her pen pal

Grandma is dead.
So is her hair dresser.
I’ve been to two funerals by video
but it’s not what you think.
The pen pal has disappeared.

Everyone misses Grandma.
Many knew of her, some
knew her. It’s been odd times.

Grandma had a Chinese pen pal
who was a foreign medical student
studying here, had passed the USMLE
had passed the TOEFL and everything.
The student’s now a doctor
now a scientist. Grandma was
fond of her.

Many times
Grandma was down in a funk:
Something about the Great Depression,
the War and the slaughter again.

So many screams in the night
when Grandma is asking
about her penpal

There is so much beauty yet
in the quixotic world: the
flowers and designs
on the body bags.

Grandma told us
days never come lightly
when the night overwhelms
before the elegant cry

There is no honor
in a gift of dead flowers
though she loved them nonetheless.

Such beauty in a sad world
my Grandma always said, is
just decoration, and
she favored flower designs
on chic shopping bags

Let the designers rise to the task
to make pretty body bags
to rise to praise, and yea
by the dawn’s surly knights
oh hey can you see our deeds
in the corona of the Sun
particles of sunset and doom.

Everyone misses Grandma.
Many knew of her, some
knew her. It’s been odd times.

Grandma told wild stories.
Very entertaining. She was
not distant ever
regardless of rules

Grandma stabbed herself to death
with a scissor in a beauty salon, and
the owner was shot to death while
grabbing a policeman’s gun.
It’s the usual. However,
the pen pal is missing.

Grandma left
me a stack of papers
from the pal, now a doctor.
Grandma loved
her dear mystery friend
from Wuhan. She claimed
her friend worked in a laboratory.

I have the correspondence
written in Chinese, and
the blacklight she had
asked me to buy for her.

The letters came slowly
sometimes through Hong Kong
and Singapore, but sometimes
through Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan

Grandma was fond
of her Wuhan girl
as she called her.

Just before her death
she reminded me that
it wasn’t important
to read the beautiful
Chinese calligraphy
because it was unimportant

It was important to read
the invisible secret writing
written between the lines.

Read in the dark
she had said.

New letters continued
to come from the
missing Wuhan girl.

I read them in the dark
with the Black Light.

Apparently, she is
patient zero for the world, and
they are hunting for her

Wuhan Girl

Wuhan girl, won’t you come out to light
come out for sighting
come out for citing?
Lab girl won’t you show a tiny crown
yes, dance with a crown, but
dance with a bat to dumbfound

We heard she went to market
early as a target
with a hole in her mask

not such an easy task to escape
if the secret police can make you, Shi
Shì de, qīn’ài de,
well duh
just simple to confess and die
with your lab confessor at your side

Wuhan girl, won’t you come out to light
come out for citing
come out delighting, shi! my love
or is it that in “gain of function”
you have died kissing crowns of bats
———-
*Shì de, qīn’ài de
Yes, my love
[she duh she nigh duh]
是的,亲爱的

Une traduction du poème intitulé “She’s an Anecdote for Easter”

C’est une anecdote pour Pâques

Nous avons regardé l’écran jouer
dans les Ides des péchés de mars
hydroxychloroquine
et l’azithromycine

en étudiant les oracles de la science
la dame elle-même a adopté un protocole convenu:
études contrôlées randomisées

Il est essentiel d’avoir un placebo
l’hydroxychloroquine n’est pas suffisante

Bien que ludique en plaisanteries aimantes, elle a dit
“étude formelle” est “le truc de Shakespeare”, et
les anecdotes sont pour les imbéciles collants
qui tombent pour des histoires miraculeuses

hydroxychloroquine
azithromycine
anecdote pointillante
un péché

Je l’ai suppliée de le prendre,
et les pièces étaient la chose, mais

les nuages ​​se rassemblaient
la tempête des cytokines approche,
un rapprochement pour
Didier * et Tony **
pas encore

Même s’ils ont dit
elle était trop vieille
pour la vie,
je l’adore elle

Elle avait adoré étudier
quand elle était étudiante
puis trouvé son doctorat Zen
études contrôlées randomisées

Elle a fait des études à l’époque
et elle était alors professeur

Mais elle a embrassé
les tragédies du protocole,
et Didier n’était pas un saint;
celui-ci ni connu pour
truffes ni foie gras.

Nous étions passés de
de station en station
dans une vallée préférée de nous
où nous avions d’abord embrassé le jour;
Charlie le chien a gardé des moutons pour nous
et il a aboyé en nous voyant jouer, et
nous avions cherché la rédemption ainsi, mais

Macron est allé à Marseille
disant: “Who knows what”
pour l’oreille de Raoult, mais

Elle, mon amour, a embrassé les protocoles
dans une étude contrôlée randomisée
parce qu’elle est professeur dans l’âme

nous connaissions les pensées des cytokines
étaient dans les nuages, oui, mais les protocoles
étaient divins, montrant
mettez vos orteils dans l’eau

Elle a obtenu un placebo;
elle mourut.
———-
It’s an anecdote for Easter

We watched the screen play
in the Ideas of March sins
hydroxychloroquine
and azithromycin

studying the oracles of science
the lady herself adopted an agreed protocol:
randomized controlled studies

It is essential to have a placebo
hydroxychloroquine is not enough

Although playful in loving jokes, she said
“formal study” is “Shakespeare’s thing”, and
the anecdotes are for sticky fools
who fall for miraculous stories

hydroxychloroquine
azithromycin
dainty anecdote
a sin

I begged her to take it,
and the parts were the thing but

the clouds gathered
the cytokine storm is approaching,
a reconciliation for
Didier * and Tony **
not yet

Even if they said
she was too old
for life,
I adore her

She loved studying
when she was a student
then found her Zen doctorate
randomized controlled studies

She studied at the time
and she was then a teacher

But she kissed
the tragedies of protocol,
and Didier was not a saint;
this one neither known for
truffles or foie gras.

We had gone from
from station to station
in a valley preferred by us
where we first kissed the day;
Charlie the dog kept sheep for us
and he barked when he saw us playing, and
we had sought redemption as well but

Macron went to Marseille
saying “je ne sais quoi”
for Raoult’s ear, but

She, my love, has embraced protocols
in a randomized controlled study
because she is a teacher at heart

we knew the thoughts of cytokines
were in the clouds, yes, but the protocols
were divine, showing
put your toes in the water

She got a placebo;
she died.

I Am a Drip

Worthless I, I cry because
no one at all even
worthless you, Mom
loves

me at all
and I would have loved Dad
had you not stabbed him
in the heart, and he
is gone I think, but
I don’t know —
I think we are dead.

Anyone, give me
a magic pebble
I can throw in the pond
where I used to go to pray
to play with a splash on me
who is a fountain who
is an endless cry, and I
can not stop myself from
wanting to drown