Poet Deploriate

Where whimsy meets cynicism, the gherkins rebel and the kids are all right. Poems from a top hat. Collections available here: http://goo.gl/FdvoTz Email the poet at poetdeploriate@gmail.com.

Roma tomato

Oh, tingle-tongue missile
you squeeze my cheeks
with zest like my
exuberant Italian aunts -
your inner spokes turn
as you climb the vine
of my genealogy
and sneak me
jellied communion wafers.

Alone together

This inn 
is not a casa
but a casu marzu -
with resident grubs
who linger in doored
air pockets and
shy from 
torchlight reveals.

Draught

The window’s breath
is a too-tight jacket
across my shoulders -
my blades wax and wane
like a Gellared spoon.

Man cutting his ties

A twitch-headed Cerberus
he guards the library steps -
warning of that uncountable place
of impossible works -
his fist antennas
a single-stemmed razor
that he thorns against his feet
excavating his own layers -
but he is not seeking to learn from history
he is seeking to sever
the ground’s hold over him.

Man with a wound

A man plays the coquette
the tree roots his chaise
his cardboard sign his fan -
but up close I see
the eruption of his spine
the volcanic flower
the mushroom cloud within -
he is composting himself
becoming leaf litter
so that the ornamental tree
outside Safeway may grow.

Man with a rose

A man with
curved tsunami shoulders
and chimney-sigh hair
zigzags the road
red rose in hand
voice an overplayed record
- I command thee
to take this rose! -
he tears holes in the traffic
shepherds pedestrians -
a rose by any name
may smell as sweet
but its vase
it seems does not.

Biting back

In the night
the city turned feral
took itself in its jaws
and shook until it broke
its own neck.

San Francisco city music

A head on the pillow
late at night
herds the city’s bass thrum -
a plumb line plucked
plays backing to
an ambulance solo
that crests -
and crests.

Out here

I have spent lives clutching
for the mirage
a slippery reality that
takes a step with
every one of mine -
it has just occurred to me
that there are others
on all sides
clutching for the mirage -
and we are all
marching on the spot.

Anxiety

When we realise
your smile is a gouge
your teeth your bones
your mouthflesh your soul -
and every time we ask
you to indulge us
we are asking you
to give yourself.