Monday, March 18, 2013


They, sports announcers, bellow this when a fellow gets his kicked ball into a net.
(Past another fellow.)

A place worse than prison, in contemporary parlance.

I'm sure both are painful.
Scores flying by.

Shackles. (Don't Google things with similar spellings lest you lose faith — as if we had it — in humanity.)

Anyway: I'm having trouble meeting my goals.
And, it kind-of hurts.

Friday, March 01, 2013

Poem for sequester

Random bruises:
Knees, acceptable.
Elbows, visually imperceptable.

Three-pronged marks on the upper bicep, questionable.

Makes a sleuth of me.

Wonders, what didn't I see,
What didn't I feel, and
How the heel
Did I fall, and
Where, exactly, did I happen to land.