eminent design

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 

grind

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

disgusts

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 

glowering

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

Tonight I’m the fish

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

wed 

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

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

thumb
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