Cotton Breathes

featured in the poetry forum November 16, 2019  :: 0 comments

It must be alive. I grab my shirt by the collar and
read the label. Polyester. I knew it felt like I was wearing
someone else’s dead skin around town. No wonder people
kept looking at me. I just assumed they had confused my glowing
personality with the sun. Turns out it was the whole dead skin
thing which is a mild disappointment. I look through my closet
and find one cotton shirt. I promise never to wash it again
now that I know it breathes. Simulated drowning is not cool,
especially if you are the one being water boarded. I am not
some riches to rags fascist on the government dime. Cotton
breathes like I breathe. I think we will be good friends.
When I stick you in my ears, it is a harmless prank. A wet Willie
by other means, but never out of malice. I bet if I hooked
a cotton swab up to an EKG I could get a heartbeat. I realize
you are not much of a talker, but it would be nice to be able
to hear you once in a while, my friend.

editors note:

A whole new take on friendly fashion. Talkin’ to cotton is all the rage. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum February 9, 2019  :: 0 comments

Hands behind the back
could this be an

Civil disobedience
is cutting the tag off your
brand new mattress
with kitchen scissors
of knowing.

Let the deaf mutes make gang signs,
the 40-hour week is waiting.

I have found it and floundered
like idiot archaeology.

editors note:

Anarchy as artifact. – mh clay

Dash 8

featured in the poetry forum October 4, 2018  :: 1 comment

The plane is too small.
Some of the luggage is left behind.
It will be at your destination
when you get there.

The stewardess smiles.
The luggage sitting on the tarmac
With sticky tags around the handles.
The plane is too small.

Everyone coughs.
The pilot sounds like a real cowboy.
The seats are too small.
The luggage on the tarmac.

Only 900 were ever built.
This is one of them.
The plane is too small.
The stewardess is coughing.

editors note: Let’s get this thing off the runway; all cough together. – mh clay

Unlearn Me

featured in the poetry forum June 24, 2018  :: 0 comments

Is that a security detail walking beside you,
or a cane?

The car won’t start
and the mind won’t stop.

If you could unlearn me, you would have by now.

Quality demonstrates craft.
Quantity illustrates consistency.

Dizzy hopscotch girls jumping into the sun.

I wouldn’t spend another dime
on this nickel of a life.

Afternoons are best for me.
Mornings should be banned.

editors note:

Quality, quantity… quandary. Not another dime on the nickel, except maybe for coffee. – mh clay

3 Feelers in the Feeling Room

featured in the poetry forum February 7, 2018  :: 0 comments

3 feelers in the feeling room
curb stomp nemesis weather patterns
down the dirt of country roads

Himalaya high on rock
crushing sound of the power band

a zoo for the wild ones
Thomas Wolfe as a showerhead

the blood I bleed was never mine
erect neglect in barrier reef

3 feelers in the feeling room
tanta-lies for a horny truth
shimmy wires in a playground play

3 feelers in the feeling

editors note:

Feels good to me. Was it good for you? – mh clay

Seeing is Believing

featured in the poetry forum August 19, 2017  :: 0 comments

Go exist in a decommissioned
missile silo in rural Kansas
for top dollar

for all I

I have seen the whole
of the human race
live horribly

and continue
in the worst
of ways

betraying the ones
they love
so convincingly

the moon could land
on itself

and call

editors note:

Moon landing or man handling; all part of the same conspiracy. – mh clay

Handshakes Are a Gateway Salutation

featured in the poetry forum April 26, 2017  :: 0 comments

to be avoided at
all costs

a ruse of the Russian
or the Chinese –
let’s say the Chinese
for effect…

just like Oppenheimer
before the bomb.

Getting you to smile
when your face should
know better.

editors note:

Every salesman’s ploy, to be every buyer’s boy. – mh clay

Starting a New Job is Never Easy

featured in the poetry forum February 13, 2017  :: 0 comments

My car fails
in front of a line of orange pylons
and I take it as
a sign.

Cars fail all the time,
you say
but I know better.

The pylons are there because of construction,
you argue.

That’s how it may appear to
a layman.

But I live in the abstract,
see the many patterns.

I know how the fates conspire.

Getting out of the car
I take my place two-thirds the way
down the line.

Standing straight
and forever silent,
my arms at my

Not orange yet,
but that’s what evolution
is for.

editors note:

Naturally selected, a beacon for all. – mh clay

The Real-Estate Developer

featured in the poetry forum August 16, 2016  :: 0 comments

He is up each morning
the real-estate developer
building sandcastles on the beach below
with a purple pail and a yellow plastic shovel
his work tools, the tools of his trade
and halfway out the front door
on his way to work
he stops to kiss a hat rack with a styrofoam head
on the cheek
(his wife of many years)
before taking the elevator

editors note:

Maybe he will run for president… or king. – mh clay

One of the Bigs

featured in the poetry forum May 19, 2016  :: 0 comments

There was this recent study published
by one of the “bigs”
that claimed there was a direct correlation
between intelligence and sexual activity

which made everyone mad
because it suggested that the smarter you are
the less likely you were to be sexually active

implying conversely
that people having lots of sex
with more than one partner
were less intelligent

and having it with those
of a lesser intelligence

producing offspring that
well, you guessed it…

which explains a lot

if you have ever tried to navigate
a Walmart parking lot on a Saturday
three weeks before

editors note:

We seek a happy medium; sexy and smart. – mh clay