Mr. Molasses stepped out onto the stage. He was standing alone at the very altar Baron Frankenstein had used to create his huge but hideous and nameless monster. Mr. Molasses, who had his own monster and who thought it compared pretty well to the Boris Karloff version, looked lovingly over at his at the manikinContinue reading “Leviathen”
Father Paul had expected maybe five or six people to attend his lectures on St. Paramours. He got twenty-five Which was amazing. This was going to work. Over the next few weeks, he was giving peripatetic lectures on the cross-shape nave, the frescoes on the ceiling and of course the huge stained-glass window that dominatedContinue reading “Our Father”
Mrs. Molasses tasted the apple and it was good. Sweetness tasted the apple nd it was sweet. Mother and daughter agreed; honeydew was a far better apple than the pomegranates they were touting at Fisher’s Fresh Fruit. They were too seedy. Mrs. Molasses bought all her vegetables in the Garden of Arden. They had twoContinue reading “The New Nostradamus”
So is the The Katzenjammer Kids a good poem? No, it clearly isn’t. But I think that it would be fair to say that it is a poem. But suppose I want to disavow KK. Am I free to cancel my labeling of the poem a poem? And am I free to cancel my labelingContinue reading “Self Involvement”
John Armstrong who is one of the finest minds who writes on poetry on the internet, once offered a decision-making procedure for recognizing a poem. He said (and I do not quote) if the person who wrote it called it a poem, then it was s poem. One sympathizes. It’s easy to miss something. OneContinue reading “On theKatzenjammer Kids”
Stately, plump Buck Molasses fished his knife out of a wooden tool box. He blessed it thrice at the kitchen sink, the stove and the refrigerator, then whetted it on a small Japanese water stone, and then—wow—he cut off his ring finger. It slipped, it could happen to anyone; it happen just that fast. InstantContinue reading “Yes”
A silverfish to the linoleum counter. Fritz wants to crush it. So ugly, poisonous. puissant. We trap it and put it in the pickle jar. Floating among pickles. who will make a hamburger first? GLop on a little ketchup, take a nice Juicy bite. You want some pie?
In a bedroom beside the swaying sea, I say this to show how unwise these fishes are: How they smell of the sea; how they are like A meat made maritime as it meets the sun, as it sets thick as molasses Made of urine-soaked brine. It may be The police are as tall asContinue reading “In a Bedroom Beside the Swaying Sea”