Stephen Paul Miller

 

 

Carter Notes the Seals of the Necropolis

 

Carter notes that the seals of the necropolis

and those of the king have been stamped

into different kinds of paste in Chocolate City.

We mosey into the different modes of Chocolate City,

aware as full we could of Chocolate City.

 

I can't believe I wrote a poem in Chocolate City.

Me, with my face to the wind, eyes beholding

Happiness, can this alabaster pigment really be?

It calls into play my response to it.

Thank God Egypt's come to Chocolate City.

 

What a problem it is to accommodate real criticism

of chocolate in Chocolate City. Chocolate City,

When will you examine yourself in such a way

that takes into account the Chocolate City scene?

There's too much money in Chocolate City. The algebraic

Functions should be written right on the money.

 

Chocolate City needs your help in Chocolate City.

Chocolate City is going down the drain in Chocolate City.

The eternal city is not Chocolate City

but Chocolate City will never be the same.

I love the cherry blossoms in Chocolate City.

 

 

 

6 Things My Son Taught Me

 

1.

"How," I ask, "does George

Bush sleep at night?"

"Maybe not sleeping

makes him crazy," Noah speculates.

 

2.

"In high school," Noah says,

"the nickname of the

Pillsbury Doughboy

was "Pillboy.'"

 

3.

The parents of Woody Allen's character

in Take the Money and Run are ashamed of him

and wear Groucho masks.

"They're typical Jewish parents," Noah observes.

 

4.

"Here's a picture of Meher Baba playing checkers."

"Checkers is a good name for a dog!" exclaims Noah.

"But Checkers was Richard Nixon's dog." "So?"

he replies, "Nixon was bad, but Checkers is good."

 

5.

"Liberals make better scientists than Republicans," says Noah,

"because liberals don't get mad at light for not being straight."

 

6.

"It's hard," says Noah, "to look dignified in your underpants."

 

 

People

 

People think just because

you're a cartoon character

you can't feel pain

but isn't that exactly what hurts?

 

 

 

Doorbell

 

Ding-a-ling-a-ling!!! Avon calling.

Hi, my name is William Shakespeare.

I dream of my father, Frank Sinatra,

trying to find his socks in a

drawer in a rented room in Bayonne,

New Jersey.

Notice that "New Jersey"; it means

I address a wider

audience beyond

the Eastern Seaboard and

the prospects scare me.

You know, when I first moved to New York in 1976

I showed a dude running St. Mark's Church my

poetry and he goes all like

"I greatly respect your work, William,

Even though I'm not usually enthusiastic about

Language poetry."

And I think

"Language poetry? —

Isn't that redundant?"

But I like redundant.

Wow, I think I'm gonna steal that.

 

WRITES IN NOTEBOOK

 

I can steal. I'm so amazingly

myself anyway.

 

BOWS TO AUDIENCE. MUSIC. EXITS. REENTERS. EXITS.