eminent design 

September 13, 2016 § Leave a comment

you could- as I’ve heard of such demonstrations being made – forestall the razory edge of judgement with a teaspoon of alum
I’ll tip my bowler to that advice and pigeon toe a winding advance through those with a bent toward nocturnal braiding of fingers based on numerology or how many variations of the word hook appear in Plaths work
there is an almost undetectable aberration in the weave and

sending a periscope through the ceiling doesn’t guarantee a clearer view so I’ll opt for peering around railings 

or over the edge of discontinued volumes of revisionist calculations 
but who can cast blame if someone happens to nod off at the loom
it is

after all

just another exercise in repetition
(c) 2016 Fred Whitehead 


September 4, 2016 § 2 Comments

the crank on the street organ
needs grease

but the only one it seems to bother

          is the monkey 
he is stomping his miniature fez

out of frustration

as the elderly 

return coins to their pockets
customer service

it seems


them more and more lately 
every seventh note is a metallic squeak 

              the grinder grinds away

no closer to the rent 

than he was this morning
the monkey just stripped off his

vest and is pissing in the potted

petunias over at the sidewalk cafe
I’m too tired to try to understand it all

too tired to wrap it all up

into a tidy metaphor for our

collective insanity 

so I turn in to the closest tavern I see
it’s nice

just me and the barkeep 

a gentleman’s agreement 

to not speak
and the monkey 


over his little tin cup of beer
(c) 2016 Fred Whitehead 

Tonight I’m the fish

September 2, 2016 § Leave a comment

I checkedit isn’t (this time) my eyes
the air most certainly has 


some mystical coagulant  
this whole place is becoming a crustacean shaped jello mold

with each utterance
did you see that commercial a few years back with the tragically flopping fish? something (if my recollection is firing in the manufacturers recommend sequence) that addressed mankind’s inability to follow a healthy path physiologically or otherwise 
well tonight I’m the fish
tonight I’m the forgotten guy in the basement with the faulty furnace 
it’s that kind of headache 

the build up of noxious fumes kind
but I continue to smile graciously

the whole time sneaking glances

at the schematics 
to figure the pitch and proper configuration of elbows to

vent away these malcontented vapors
(c) 2016 Fred Whitehead 

13 shots

September 1, 2016 § Leave a comment

Rooster Cogburn got 13 shots
I saw it right there on my 

beige Zenith
I’ve taken a few

road signs are pockmarked 

all along the cow paths that

crosshatch my existence 
but, I’m on the fence about this one

at the stick of a

no. 2 Warthog positioned for strafing
the offending phraseology 

staring jauntily from shrubbery 

in barely effective Ghillie suits of

ill spaced syllables
that, my cherubs, is

the scrum of evolution 
a brief but noticeable tightening 

of the gluteus usually occurs 

at first strike with perhaps

a slight side slip of the

but I’m always at the sink after

tracing a line from crows nest

to acne scar
there is ritual wringing of cloth

a scarlet spiral

and the bloodied hands

of frightful revision
(c) 2016 Fred Whitehead 


August 15, 2016 § Leave a comment

there are those days
when, 20 min. in you begin

to believe the evidence

that suggests a mistake, but
the ship has already left the slip 

with you on it

               so there it is
maybe along the way

some stratification will occur 

heavier emotion

settling out across the seabed 

of your day
the current of all the rest

swirling above

barely keeping

the rusting bulk afloat 
down in steerage 

             pressed against the throng

you have only 

fresh air and solitude

on your mind
as the ship

quite unapologetically 

steams ahead
(c) 2016 Fred Whitehead 

a blocking

August 3, 2016 § 2 Comments

    it is

as if Jupiter sticks his finger

into my frontal lobe

               to just past

               the first knuckle
   the way

a keeper of houseplants does

when determining

proper moisture content 
   and the

act of differentiating

between hum of June bugs
   and the

drum line in my skull

is becoming bothersome
trying to squint through 

gauze over

my narrative

   the muslin

over the

       window of thought 
(c) Fred Whitehead 

to those unheeding 

July 29, 2016 § Leave a comment

I could not control my lament


as sun

burrowed crowned head

into feverish horizon
leaving me

stunned at how

how badly we had

fucked it all up
dubbed by the record as

incompetent stewards

undeserving of this gift
when over my shoulder 

I heard the wind whisper 

     don’t worry so much
       the dead will surely sigh


       council the unborn
some it is hoped

                        will listen
(c) 2016 Fred Whitehead