White House Press Corps


Daily they gather

Their own private pool

of shared filth

Warmth of idyllic bubble

Waddle, quack, duckspeak

They declare double plus un-good

Water should run off their backs

but these fowl

peculiarly thin skinned

Uniformity of color

Uniformity of thought

and the removers

of pond scum

Nice guests for dinner

roasted with heads intact

#12 Daydream


Uprooted, these ladies of the field

Native soil washed from their feet

Colors still shine in state of suspension

Framed in dead monuments

to brothers fallen before

Wilting, they pine to return

to their home beyond the glass

Where each reflect on the pane

Where each


On the pain


The Puffins

What fortunate circumstance

The day the Puffins convened

Choosing to eschew

Empire and world domination

Eyes seeing only left or right

never find the path forward

Instead to languish amid the rocks

In tidal pools

Sustained only by what the Seas will spare

And yet they are still free

No Captain

Others fought

and died for naught

Myths the elixir

Spooned from birth

Assures no crisis of conscience

upon dying breath

To the grave with hands clean

Hyperbole reigns

in a Kingdom of Queens

Tourette’s Syndrome for

the body politic

Enema bag of the Republic

a cleansing purge

Yet men will still die

for myths

No Captain at the helm

and the rats are jumping


Brass buckles found on a hillside

Out here at the breaking point

Where the tension snaps

and steel towers topple

Out of sight out of mind

No inconvenient views

for the vehicle of your convenience

Laboring in Lang’s sublevels

while they float away

in bubbles of artificial comfort

Their progeny consumed

with meaningless pursuits

Occupied in distraction

They do not see the hopes

that once lived in the night skies

The earth still scarred at Mort-Homme

where they delivered death

wearing God with us in brass





Lady in the sun hat

Alabaster flesh

wrapped in black cocoon

Shes the lady in the sun hat

She braves the morning light

though shes girded for worse

Soft cotton billow flows her frame

Shes the lady in the sun hat

Shes ready for mid-day

sunglasses on notice

Godspeed, lady in the sun hat

that you escape these piercing rays

that would weather your porcelain

Lady in the sun hat

beneath the tree

Lady in the sun hat

your symmetry

Your colors in concordance

Will you grace us further

in Autumn’s gentler light?