First of all I’m pleased to announce that New York City poet Joy Leftow — who you might recall is the production editor of the Cartier Street Review, author of Spot of Bleach, and involved so many other cool poetic endeavors I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to name them all if I tried — has been kind enough to publish my “Low Kay Shun” on her renowned poetry blog (  Check it out!  And thank you, Joy!

Here’s the permalink to my poem:

Second….  The other day I had an unintentionally close encounter with some oven cleaner.  We have a self-cleaning oven — but cleaning the top of the stove requires a human touch.  There’d been some baked on blackness on the stove top that I simply could not eliminate with any recommended chemical or amount of elbow grease.  It was driving me crazy.  Finally someone suggested oven cleaner (on the stove top?) as the one thing that could rid us of this black plaque.  The bottle said to use it in a well ventilated area – so I opened the windows and doors – but I still unintentionally breathed in some of it, which made me feel a little loopy.  So I came upstairs, changed my Facebook status to something like John “doesn’t like oven cleaner fumes.”  And a friend responded immediately with the suggestion that I quickly write a “trippy” poem in that state.  So I wrote something, for better or worse, just a stream of consciousness rhyme of sorts that I now present to you here.  Whether it even qualifies as a poem, I’ll leave for others to decide.  Here’s the text (which I wrote in FB comments), followed by a video that I made an hour or two later of me reading the piece.

John Burroughs at 5:18pm February 24

Nothin says lovin like somethin from the oven

Makin me Easy Off my rocker

Without getting me hot

Now where are those Tollhouse cookies I bought

Before the fumes sent me on a U turn

Made my brain cells burn

Made my belly yearn for something sweet

Some doughy gooey chocolatey treat

To devour as I regain my sanity

And indulge my vanity

In puerile poetry laced with profanity

Obscene words you mighta heard before

Like Cheney, Bush, Rush and Sean Hannity

What a chore

What a bore

Wishing they were Al Gore

But they’re nuttin’ honey

But bakin’ you for money
Getting more dough than the Pillsbury boy

Playing with pollution like it’s just a toy

Spinning you like a top
Makin you hop

Makin you poor
Makin you drop

Beneath the fiscal floor

While their dough just rises
And rises some more

Now where was I?

Oh yeah, in the oven

Bush and Dick are done now
Givin’ me their lovin’

Obama’s here and there’s nothing to fear
The coast is clear
At least for four years
The Republicans are done
Now they made me their nookie
Left me not a thing but this Tollhouse cookie
And a dear John letter signed “Karl Rove”

But that’s okay, ’cause I got clean stove.