Inaugural Redress

A Haman on the Hudson,
An Il Duce with less hair,
Atilla by the terlet,
A partial Hitler with a harlot.

A Stalin tanned and aged,
A Franco shoeshined up,
A Marcos caught in traffic,
A Milosevic in a cup!

A Pol Pot on the seven,
Mobutu in Times Square,
An Amin when he sucks Doritos,
A Pinochet who apes mosquitoes?

A Khan of clubland bathrooms,
A Mao snorting cheap-cut-speed,
Our own Caligula with no seretonin—
What a shandah (hustling swampland leads).

Montauk

An open haired mother, open
haired boy, closed to a sea-blue

floor,
washed in the tide light.

A moon cretin shape,

sweet
dribbled nape, a sampling

of red goldmines (and evening
sight).

Day bespeaks aroma, encrypted sales
imagery

pearls cottoning surf
past a gravelbed of earth.

I throw up

astride the fast cars,
aside

a widening battle-line.

A Story

Math is a story.
A true story.
A powerful story.
But still, just a story.

God is a story.
A true story.
A powerful story.
But still, just a story.

Country is a story.
A true story.
A powerful story.
But still, just a story.

Family is a story.
A true story.
A powerful story.
But still, just a story.

Love is a story.
A true story.
A powerful story.
But still, just a story.

Death is a story.
A true story.
A powerful story.
But still, just a story.

A poem is not a story,
not a true story,
not a powerful story.
But still, not a story.