it was just a dream
of guillermo del toro
with his eyes sewn closed
chortling on a bed
near a wall crawling with bugs
as jack black looked on
were they both brothers
from a different mother
was the real question
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2025
i am what i am
your very own spinning wheel
spin me until you get what you feel
or put me on a car, i will get you far
or put a hamster in me so
we get nowhere fast, i do not care
take me down off the tree
whenever you need a reason
i am your dedicated fruit machine
a revolving door of tide & whim
a cog in the christian fascist regime
a twist of the key in a nail scarred hand
i am what you say that i say i am
at which point i frankly don’t give a damn
whatever you need is all i can be
but there is one thing i would ask of you
to put me back when you are done
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2026
i lay on the grass & feel how
the flowers push up through my spine
threading me to the divine
the will of modor earth
the smell of honey & i hear how
bees whir above my navel
spreading nature’s table
the pollen will of modor earth
a summer of rain & i smell how
petrichor infuses soil & eaves
wedding with fall’s orange leaves
the solemn will of modor earth
the first snow & i see how
my bridal outfit turns to white
shedding trees stand so quiet
in the mollen will of modor earth
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024
if his head touched the pillow he would have died
so he wrote instead but there was no tune
no tune to croon for the words he made
“looks make the fellow,” some looker cried
so he hid instead but there was no room
no room to prune for the life he made
years rolled into the tomb
& he smiled a bloodless smile
“better shut me that window,” he said
then wrote some more
but what for
if he skipped on the bellows he would have flied
but he sunk instead & there was no room
no room to swoon for the lull he made
“taste life’s harsh marrow,” some taster cried
so he starved instead & there was no tune
no room to croon for the lack he made
laughter rolled into the tomb
& he smiled a bloodless smile
“joy’s an abstraction,” he said
then cried some more
but what for
if he plunked on a cello he would have sighed
but he frowned instead & there was no room
for croons to tune with the face he made
“hang on these gallows,” some hanger cried
so he did just that & there was no noon
just gloom in the room & the life he paid
death rolled into the tomb
& he smiled a bloodless smile
“where’ve you been all my life,” he said
then hung some more
but what for
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2008
unbolt me 