Weekly Sonnet 12

Atomic Ouija

And it was planned for months this “experi-
ment,” Mister Noory (George) excited (too)
the whole time; each announcement so spiri-
tedly building anticipation. But
misfortunes do arise in a co-in-
cidentless world (and the cleaver get bold).

Of the three guests (protective circle), two
were willing, the other adamantly
opposed. So many sordid tales, no gut
would be unaffected or blood not cold-
er. Caution, err and towel are thus thrown in.

Where in the fifth dimension can one flee?
Yes, just another disappointment and
called off as the planchette merely grazed hand.

Weekly Sonnet 11

Kitschy Junk or Creation Negation Station

Soft-spoken painter Bob would gag on his
knife (happy and little, though it may be).
These tack-eraser-pigs have so, so much
character, I cannot choose only one
from the others! Bless me Concrete Santa
Maria! See the necklaces with such
a plethora of designs. Can a bee-
wax urn hold dreams, inspirations and wis-

dom? Da. Can we rename Are You Smarter
Than a Fifth Grader? to Certifiab-
ly Retarded!? (State Capitals?) I won!
I won! These replica Monets are fab-
ulous, are they not? (And that will be our
little secret.) How many sold this hour?

Weekly Sonnet 10

Hamilton/Burr

Punked John Adams was, overtly, though meant
to be kept hidden by Alexander.
Public Conduct and Character moment-
arily turned to Vice as quick a dur-
ation of a bullet through a liver
or Aaron’s cross back the Hudson River.
and then take over Texas—Priyatno—
(Conspire, that is)—zret kak on upramo.

But now two hundred and three years later
we’ve had another Vice President shoot
a man. (If they could, pheasant would fly, “hoot!”)
What riotous fun! (Call me a hater,
if you must) Take your pick: miss, accident,
or others’ blame, this is your government.

Weekly Sonnet 9

(This Voyage) 1947-1937-1810-1687

How do interstellar travelers not
manage to avoid a vast, blue, dusty
 ball as this, brilliantly quaint in wealth;
and if their intent were sinister who
of our mundi systemate would leer?

Do we eat canned foods still as if it were
 the Second World War for profit and health?
We need certain things to be slow to rot.
It does (El sol salió a) appear
to be edible (noche). A rust-(y
me cantó!) y can holds meat to be sure.

Rug pulled from ’neath you, would the others’ shoe
slip just as easily after hum-flam
were exacted; would be as just a sham?