Bye Bye, George

I was in the local dive
when the President walked in.
We talked,
but not about politics.
He said something
about a banana having
a good youth form.
I was like
Good youth form what the hell is that.
He said about how
a horse could have a good youth form.
We really just shot the shit.
It was fun.
I always figured it would be.

Manna, Treacherous Sky

    Poor chap, that tramp —his beauty       confiscated          by filth;   Left to pray mindless    ly in the gutter,      in arrears         to the street; At church for his tea-and-two-slices   his offering but           a burned-up blade     of grass and             still he prayed;   O, heaven, my galoshes    are glummed,   my ears beaten             by duns;   O, keep me,       even though —

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Advice for Endangered Species

   The ruddy turnstone of America
       died before my eyes.   This
    poem is inspired by
           but not about her.

     I tried to convince the great libraries
     to pump me full of rotten fruit.
     I tried and died?
     No I tried and failed.

  NASCAR cars awake to find themselves
  empty of engines but slathered in spit and lipstick.
      The Vice Presidents have all
      gone to pasture, revving
      like Alzheimer cows.

Meanwhile, on the North Slopes...
  The polar bears are all dead,
   even the ones we've eaten. The polar bears are all dead,
   even the ones we've eaten. The polar bears are all dead,
   even the ones we've eaten. The polar bears are all dead,

        I admit
        it's late and I don't know
        who to vote for.

 Sunrise in my eyes, coffee and rubles.
 This is the American Dream.

Please wait while I await another line.