Found a bicycle.
Fixed it with a butter knife.
Rode it for three hours.
On Canada Day
everything in town is closed
except for the beer.
Wind snaps the oak branch;
acorns roll off the tin roof
like Dude’s bowling ball.
One drowns the garden
and screws the bolt too tightly
with good intentions.
The arugula
sends up a single flower—
its flag on the moon.
One can tell a lot
by the way someone eats
his corn on the cob.
Speed bumps and road humps
always sit past the shade line
where you can’t see them.
First tune of the gig.
A spring on my horn snaps off.
I pack up in shame.
It’s so humid that
I need to loosen my watch
to a bigger size.
spring becomes summer
humidity increasing
need to get AC
Dry aging rib eyes
in the bottom of my fridge.
I await the funk.
Vegan muffins suck.
Butter in the batter is
the right way to bake.
King salmon fillet
with two types of fresh relish
and corn on the cob.
Cabbie drove to work
with emergency brake on
and went the wrong way
Cab stunk like carcass
for second day in a row.
Homes, smell ya later.
Chris Potter is the
finest saxophone player
I have ever heard.
Say what you will, but
Radiohead always gives
a great rock concert.