difficult to cure.

poems, vision, stories and soliloquies from the void. m.a.b. est. 1968.

  • Her Name was Sisyphus

     “Get me another beer, bitch.”  Laura rolled her eyes at him and ducked into the kitchen. She reached in the fridge, mindful of her nails as she grabbed him 12 ounces of oblivion.…

  • what if…

    What if this poem was about me finding you About you finding me about how the search ended but we kept looking anyways; about the light and the dark melding?…

  • DICK

    There used to be this old man in my neighborhood who’d jack off by his window and wear shirts that read: “666” or: “The Pope’s a Pollack” and I thought…

  • old man on solitary walk

    the loneliest times are spent like this: eating alone in familiar restaurants with the smell of sawdust, baked meat and hot bread reminiscent of some childhood innocence and grace long…

  • Dad produced a knife, not money 

    In the police station now where I’m not even a participant  observer two little boys are sitting in the detectives’ area with the obligatory caseworkers both appropriately harried and frenetic each working…

  • Umbilical Noose

    It’s been a pall across the shadow of face and life I can’t lie about that. Not here, anyways. If there is no honesty in the poem There can’t be…

  • Christmas, Eve of 2001

      Blessed is the curse, it’s complete here—there’s coffee and Leonard Cohen and the bed is empty, and dusty eyelid shades are drawn and the unwashed windows protect me from…

  • Sunrise, Sunset 

    I. The agony within   I heard the rat bastard weasel’s alarm upstairs before mine.  My eyes were glued shut and the electric blanket was eel’s skin on my legs; the…

  • Notes on an 8th Grade Reunion. 2006.

    [Preface: Admittedly, a different man wrote this so many moons ago. I was prompted to resurrect it because I heard through the digital grapevine that one of my grammar school…