Renovate me like one of your Victorians, San Francisco. So begins THIS DRAWN & QUARTERED MOON, which finds humor in romance, romance in humor. San Francisco quickens its lyric pulse. As the scope expands, characters emerge. You will meet a prefame Courtney Love, Lincoln through Whitman’s eyes, a drunken plagiarist, a dysfunctional Mafioso, recent U.S. presidents – and Elvis, in the flesh. Exuberance of style runs throughout. These are poems that both surprise and seem inevitable.

 

GHAZAL OF THE TERRIBLE TWENTIES

The fish store’s a vid shoppe, bus stop still bus stop.
Bust a rhyme in 4/4 time and clean your fashion plate.

My self absorbing all that was never to be mine
from those stink-pretty pages. I who was never to be anyone’s.

Something in the water, someday in the air, search engine
for your sampled thoughts, somewhere over… the radio.

Goth almighty, Big Heart City- don’t show your frosted mug
before 12:30, even if you do know the DJ’s brother.

Robbed at gunpoint, 2 a.m., 19th & Valencia, for real.
They be trippin’ on death juice, metal mouth, at large.

Next stop, Morning Breath. Monday rears its Medusa head.
Wet Food, Wet Food, Wet Food Now! Do not come home without it.

 

ON BEING ASKED TO DEFINE GHAZAL

If your life swung in the balance
I would not feed you the answer.
Truth be told, I’ve looked it up
again and forgotten myself.
Nobody knows all the parts, wrapped and whole.
He told me to my face.
Of mispronunciation I stand
self-accused, unsorry.
(My way sounds like a dream.)