Headshot SA Pantry Profile (Copy)[Photo by Mark Hanauer]

What is life?

A Hasbro mind game.

more destination than place
Los Angeles remains a
shifting landscape of
water and sand

mercy has little to do with life here

nor is this city the cruel, friendless,
kitten with a whip that many
would like to believe

make of it what you will
these eviscerated roads are my river
lit by the constant final flash of fame

there is a cheerful ignorance
a chance meeting &
luck like gold that cannot be
mined or

a common atom

a dance

& stars that trick the
water with their

do not wash your wars in it
take your holy rituals to the
precious fountains built by your
agencies of fear

press your
wine from the fallout
& drink your
bitter victory

for yes

there is a river
a giving river that will
sing you safely

a river of

& free

where you can
& leave your casual sadness
walking sideways at the

meet me there
whoever you are
& we will agree to
swim it

Why are you doing this?

Because Rich Ferguson asked me to.

Do you always do everything Rich tells you to?

He didn’t tell me, he asked me.

Okay smart aleck, I guess that’s okay then. So, is there something you’d like to say?

I don’t know.

"Get a brain! Morans"

“I don’t know?!” What are you, some kind of moran, you socialist!

Socialist? You wouldn’t know what a socialist was if it bit you in your teabags, Lipton!

I got your teabags right here buddy! Alright, enough with the Martin & Lewis, I’ll bite… what’re you working on these days?

Okay, I’ll quit beating around the Bush era and bite back, Trickledown. Been putting together a Poetry Bomb.

A Poetry Bomb!? You really are some kind of lefty socialist!!! What in the hell is a Poetry Bomb?

I bought an old military practice bomb back in November of last year. And watch who you’re calling lefty, righty! I just happen to be left-handed.

That figures… socialist lefty!! Where the hell did you find this old bomb?

On Craigslist.

Craigslist!? What’s that, some kind of left wing media conspiracy?

No, it’s a place to find stuff online Fox hunter. Guy sold it to me for a hundred bucks, and he delivered it!


Yeah, good deal, huh?

Not bad, socialist, not bad… So, what’re you gonna do with it? What’s some old bomb got to do with commie poetry?

Nothing really. But with a little help from some friends I’ve been converting it.  Took it apart, removed all the insides, put it back together, cut a hole in it and filled it full of poetry from around the world. Taken me almost six months.

Then what, drop it from a plane? Let poetry blow all over the world and litter the world with boredom? Man, you really are a moran!

Nope, taking it on tour around the country, five weeks. Leaving April 28th from L.A., The Poetry Bomb Couch Surfing Across America Tour of Words 2010.

That’s easy for you to say.  Hell, you sound like a crazy socialist to me, health care lover!

You got a problem with being healthy?

So, where are you dropping this here, Poetry Bomb, sicko?

Phoenix, Albuquerque, El Paso, Austin, Memphis, New Orleans…

Sweet home Alabama?

Yep, Florence.

You just working the south?

Yes and no, be hitting the North Carolina coast, drop interior to Asheville. Then head to Nashville at about four weeks, north to Chicago, then south and west to Denver, Sacramento and then, home sweet apartment, Tea Partier! Grab a cup of coffee, prop up my pups and relax.

I still don’t understand, why are you doing this?

Maybe I’m just a few cards shy of 52. Well, I guess in my own feeble commie way, I’m trying to bring people together… community, education. Shine a little light in a sometimes dark world via the poem.

But aren’t bombs made for war?

Indeed they are, Captain. But this is a Poetry Bomb, Palintologist, not some gun show masquerading as a lovefest. War, the artifice and artifacts of war, were all invented to create and enforce agreements. The Poetry Bomb was created to foster disagreements. Disagreements, dissent are the cornerstone of our democratic system. Education is the key.

Well I certainly don’t agree with any of whatever it is I think you said! And how dare you call me Palintologist! I’m not too high on Monty Python, marxist.

Not high, eh? There you go thinking again. And get it right, I’m a Groucho Marxist okay? Hey, if Monty Python were a snake, it would’ve bit you in the clip art! Yeah, well, I disagree with you too, but that’s kind of the point. We agree to disagree, got it? And that, my flag waving friend, is what America’s supposedly all about.

Well, I don’t know if I agree with that either, but I suppose so.

Good, then we disagree.

We do?


So where can other socialists that have read this far find out about your Poetry Bomb?

People can find the tour information on The Poetry Bomb Facebook fan page.

And there’s poetry on the Facebook page?

Nope, the poetry’s all inside Elsie.

Who’s Elsie?

She’s the bomb.

What bomb?

The Poetry Bomb.

What’s a Poetry Bomb? Another loser poet at some open reading? Man, I sure do crack myself up!

Elsie is The Poetry Bomb, I named her after my Grandmother Elsie.

So The Poetry Bomb’s an old blue haired woman with no teeth wanting to give you big sloppy kisses all the time, pinch your cheeks and call you sweetie?

Nope, she’s sleek, blue, pin striped by Skratch and quite beautiful.

Who scratched her?

Nobody gunslinger. Skratch is a guy, a pin striper, an artist. He painted beautiful designs all over her and helped make her pretty.

Pretty? Sounds pretty weird if you ask me… you bomb hugging socialist! What a moran.

Okay, okay… you win! Just say good night Dick.

Good night Dick… but I’m not Dick.

Who says? Good night Dick.

Good night.