Rev. Dr. A. Jacob Hassler

all would-be poets, take note!
proofread that so-called poem you just wrote!
those who aspire for more Famous Days
please steer clear of these clichés:
...

nothing makes a lousy day better
than seeing a sexy woman at the
convenience store
in her office attire with her white
...

how i wish my fingers were the bristles
or my breath were the wind when it whistles
thru your hair, thru your hair
...

my trousers have become uncomfortably snug
my belt is suddenly a notch too tight

i prayed for a few extra inches below the waist
...

geezer poets with your guns ablaze
who pathetically pine for your glory days

who shoot down young poets at every whim
...

i was jealous, but i don’t know why
perhaps it was because i felt emasculated,
picturing you on the back of that crotch rocket
tightly hugging his denim-clad middle-aged belly trying
...

to write a poem
for a woman's favour:
it is fraught with misery and pain
...

picture frames, my CD player, plates & silverware
there is nothing in this room she has not touched; her fingerprints are everywhere -
even the extra pillow on my bed
still has the soft bruise left by her head -
...

i remember staying up with you that heavy night
passing a bottle of raspberry wine back and forth
as we dragged ourselves thru a thick conversation
about prom night car crashes and brushes with death
...

relationships always begin
with a few kinds words

and invariably end with many
...

to the illegitimate child,
whose streets are dimly lit
who pores thru dusty photo albums
for the eyes that look like his,
...

Christine P., if you read this, i still remember you
more than i should
more than you know
you have never strayed far from my mind,
...

who wants to wage war
with the Orgy of Four?
against those who don’t score
them an Eight or more?
...

ample-breasted girls
can get almost anything
by leaning over
...

my pen is like a
frightened octopus
the way it shoots its ink.
...

the morning after heavy drinking
last night's liquor
straps me to my whirling bed
and makes me wear
...

before i met you,
i had already done everything
for the first time
...

my Black Pen is like my Princess

the way they run about
...

two-way stop signs
shot up with holes

a good pair of boots
...

are we not just
bouncing around in a great rubber inferno
occasionally colliding with one another
until one of us breaks?
...