Tuesday, February 4, 2014


(Ode: a poem in praise of something.
Toad: a poem in blame of something.)

The Loser Without a Face  (for Joseph Campbell)

Others were in charge
of heaven, others claimed
the day, the night, the fruits
of all those endless shifts
of slavery.

You rose at dawn, went
down to work, and worked
and worked and worked
and, once in a while,
you got a day off

to wash your children’s diapers
to satisfy your spouse
to clean the toilets, the kitchen
and every other room in the bank’s house.

You were hardly a hero.
You lived for too many years.
You died and were almost immediately
obliterated by time.

True story.

Atlas Humbled (for Ayn Rand)

The selfish never
get what they want
‘cause no one likes
a brat.

            And mostly ‘cause
we only want what
we can’t have

respect—a way
to pass the time
without worrying, too much,

how bad it’s gonna hurt.


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