Of Odds & Pitch Counts
Some people are born
With two strikes on them
Others start out with the count 3 and 0
And go through life
Always content to just take that walk
While the former keep swinging at that one in the dirt.

If Only
If you could only
just write one poem
that sounded like
Ben Webster’s
Tenor Saxophone
Then maybe
somebody might
listen to you.

I bet infinity
is just endless talk
or worse yet….

Discuss.

Burning June
Each June sunset
burns like a stick match
struck against balance
left in the calendar box.

Right now I’ve got 27 left.
But who’s counting ?
I am.

How the West was Lost
Have we all become a race
Of distracted cyber pioneers
Too embarrassed to admit
All that we never knew is
 the only remarkable thing about us
Remembering the trivial
Forgetting the essential.
*
Hearing Aide
Received a postcard in the mail yesterday
Offering either an agnostic apostle
Or generic prosthesis-

And I didn’t hear a sound
Or a leap of faith.

*
Fuck Waste book
Listen here
You can just skip the Like Box
And the dislike Box
Heading straight for the
I don’t give a shit Box.

VINCENT QUATROCHE, who describes himself as ‘Perpetually Cryptic and marginally talented’ brings his mythical underground beat poet persona back to the Parkside for a return engagement -- high Balling his emotional train wreck prose  derailment de-jour.