What happens when the moon explodes?

I step on the front porch
and innocently look up
at the full moon
there is a slight tremor
in my eyes? or is it out there?
suddenly the moon fractures
erupts, explodes
in real time
but it looks slow motion
I’m watching live
the full moon, stark orb, dark black sky
hanging , a fusillade of  blue flames
swirling like a holy ghost
around the cratered circle

the moon flys apart,
the sea of tranquility
blasted out of a billion years of complacency
lunar crumbs flaring like matchheads
sputtering orange into the black night

so exciting
and I’m watching live
better than Superbowl III
I could have been caught napping
but instead
I’ve been picked
in all of cosmic history
to watch
the moon
shatter
so sexy and slow

after the celestial striptease
I figure, well, that was a blast
sure i’ll miss the moon
but life goes on
i’ve got work to do

but who knew
the hangover would spiral to hell?
next Thursday
is only ten hours long
because
the moon let go its reins
and the earth, me included
spin faster
galloping
around my goddam axis

on Friday
an hour
lasts nineteen minutes
and the tides don’t come in
or go out
the beach is a puddle
the wind is blowing extremely fast
dogs love it
then they go mad
howling
for the moon

because there’s no moon
no half moon
no harvest moon
no gibbous moon
no crescent moon
no moon
to cradle
the time

        Cut the Chuckles

hey
you there,
yeah you
you know who you are
there in the back
yes, you
you, the one who's chuckling back there
do you want to tell us
exactly
what is so funny?

(long pause)
you know, that's funny
not what you said
because you didn't say anything
what's funny is
there are two types of people in the world
one is the type that divides everything into two types
and the other type is funny
and you're not
either one
that's funny
but I digress
you there,
yeah you
you know who you are
all I was saying is simply this:
cut the chuckles

but look, if you absolutely must chuckle
then chuckle in German

thong soap

just add water

and apply liberally

right there
enjoy the festive feeling

enjoy the special sensation

rinse at your leisure

     or the day after tomorrow

is it soap?
or is it a thong? 

put it on in the morning
it's gone in the afternoon

 by nightfall you know one thing- - -
your ass is sooo clean

Bijou and the Borrowed Time

bijou the cat skis a slippery slope
mortal coil nigh shuffled past hope
bijou was dying, running out of rope
dialed 911 and asked for the cat pope

bijou, bijou, you had a kick-ass life
serenely dedicated to lack of strife
I hate seeing you go out like this
me too she said I'll miss
making you scratch my spine
but I have a favor if you don't mind
on thursday, if I'm still around
put me down, down into the ground

spent wednesday off times crying
bijou, bijou, I can't say - "you're dying"
you're the best cat I've ever met
thanks for letting me be your pet

bijou, you love to lie in the sun
doing nothing, toasting yer buns
I found a place for your eternal rest
by the big boulder over there, blessed

but on thursday bijou took a bite at noon
ate some more in the afternoon
and on thursday night showed some sass
the vet said well, one more pass
let's see how much fight she'll amass

well, bijou has now commenced
to recover life and limb and sense
like a hungry sprouted sprig
she's been reincarnated as a pig

and now that she's figured it out
she's born again to feast and pout
cuz all that time, right next to the bags of dry food pellets
sat cans of juicy stinky meat, for which she's become a zealot

in the ninth of her lives, she's doubled her weight
she rolls down the hall like a ton of freight
she has dispensed with all forms of doing
this cat bodhisattva's sole purpose is chewing

manifest destiny

one day we're getting lost

ripping along the freeway of desire
speeding west towards a new region

a new place to ramble

day two

we're still winging west

across the wide flat belly
of southern Oklahoma
in perfect time for the annual rodeo
in the city of boswell, state of OK.

just in time to watch

the bruising ropey river bull

flip and gore his okie cowboy

and a six year old rodeo clown in the stands
looks my way and whispers to daddy:

“someone’s here I don’t know”

day three, we're out on the panhandle

it's 58 degrees at dawn ignition

and six hours later

98 in the pure stank of bleachy Texas daylight
we suffer through Amarillo - - -
ninety square miles of cockeyed America
it’s flat in every dimension, including the future

we stop to pee in the dust

day four and
Dynamic Exuberant Manifest Inevitability
is our middle name, and we’re rolling,
rolling straight at the heart
of all that’s right with America . . .
infinite curves, pure possibility
straight up the cold hard east face

of the Rocky Fucking Mountains
hurling hi-beams at the blinding western bulls eye sun

day five we're at the The Hotel Fidel

orange, dry and cool

a flannel-red dawn in downtown Las Vegas, New Mexico
the real Vegas, baby, is this here Vegas
built out of adobe mud and victorian manners,
reality and Astroturf,

it's dry and high
prairie and mountain,

old and older still

ghosts in the alleyways

later still we're

as west as west can be

a brand spanking new region

the first chilly trickle of the rio grande

fattens mora valley

home to home grown pistachios

and other nuts, just slightly cracked

sun-yellow aspens blaze and spark

in the stop motion flame

of lightning showers

it’s not like we’re strangers

it’s not like we’re strangers,
it’s not like you are a shattered shell of a galoot,
it’s not like we don't have a web site on the world wide interweb,
twelve years in the making since the last millennium

i knew you before you ever met her
all you had to say was “she’s outa town”
but when i saw you on thursday
you said i don’t know if she’ll be here tomorrow

then, the next day, you said
“she can't make it”
then today, Saturday, at the pool
and i say, is veronica coming?

and what's your response to this legitimate, heartfelt query?
you, the old dork spacecadet of the new millennium,
you look trapped, nervous, weak and guilty
and you mutter, "who veronica. . . ?
oh, didn’t i tellya’? . . . ah, she's in dallas . . ."

and in a none-too-calm voice,
justifiably, with exasperation and consternation,
and a bitter dose of incredulity i inquire,
“dallas? veronica is in dallas?
why didn’t you say so yesterday?”

you stand there with your thumb up your ass
which inspires me to probe more deeply
"what crossed your mind when i asked two days ago?
why didn't you say veronica is in texas?"

you look dumber by the second
so I scream, "what's your name, you idiot?"
then I get it
"she's not in dallas, is she?
you don't know where she is!
she can't tell you where she is
'cause she's in the witness protection program

and she can't tell you where you are
you can't comprehend anything any more
'cause you're in the witness stupefaction program.
slowly programmed to give vague
half-hearted, inappropriate answers to simple personal questions,
effectively germinating confusion
and keeping you isolated from human beings
i think next time, i'll call veronica. (or i'll ask veronica herself)

Downtown Atlanta, Summer 2009. After shooting in the sun for a while Penny decided it was a good time to dance in the streets. It was pretty good.

O Turnberry You Tortured Turf

O turnberry ye hardy hunk of tortured scottish turf
the wind and sea and weather pound thy earth
like fists of duffers flailing

O turnberry ye thirsty sponge for tears and blood
blood of fools, blood of kings, blood of bogeyed holes
blood seeped and supple in your dirt

O turnberry your claws sunk deep in the shallows of the outer Firth of Clyde
you've your own moon, turnberry, a half farthing rising in the pounding sea
we call it the Ailsa Craig, fat and edged in the sinking sun

O Turnberry your winds do twist and thrash and overturn
laughing at gravity herself
tossing a dimpled ball on a celtic whim

O merciless Turnberry, ye spiteful course
tom watson slashes through your puzzled links
tom watson age 59 stands atop turnberry aged eons

O Turnberry summoning gales of inevitability
the odds stacked against goodness and mercy and truth of heart
favoring the brutal sea, the lumpy heaving foam-frothed sea

O Turnberry ye exquisite Scottish poison
poised on the 18th hole, old tom watson needs an 8 foot putt
to win the Claret Jug and eternity, immune to wind and war

O Turnberry! Old Tom Watson!
good god man, it's an eight foot putt to immortality
gird thy loins, stroke true, the cup is in your grasp!

O good god, turnberry, did you rise in green envy?
brook naught that's straight and true
Turnberry
reserves immortality for
Turnberry

An Even Newer Deal

I loved the new deal
the old school new deal
the ballsy and brassy new deal
the fuck the depression new deal
the one that paid you to take photographs

to make a dam
to tell stories
to lay some goddam pipe
and now it's a new day
in a new millennium
and we need

nay, we demand, a brand-new deal-of-a-deal
a succulent tax-free-fact-free-guilt-free-for-all doozy whopper of a d e a l
a better newer maxed-out whacked-out white whale of a freaking deal
a happy deal with bells and whistles and chrome and sugar and magic mushrooms
a plumptastic islamo-judeo-christo-tao-shinto-bhuddeo
immaculate juicy tantric consummation of a d e a l