That Year at Yale

Alma matters.

Me and the siblings shared a cave. For an age, we painted solitary mammoths on the walls, threw our solitary thoughts at the stalagmites as if solitary ideas had might.

Our poop stunk.

And we burned our share of fights over who sat nearest the fire until we learned about shared might and how marshmallows toast just right, despite the nearby stink.

And now we share the world. The fluff, and all the good stuff, and spin the spiffy wheels we invented and later mass produced.


Found You in a Haiku

face, face, face, face, face.
face, face, face, face, face, face, You.
face, face, face, face, face.


Technically Speaking

Having mastered complexities of math, science, and alphabet,
all that education now comes down to this:
affixing one and one together late on Christmas Eve,
hooking up latest kids’ gadgets with no sense of ease.

Has me thinking of a chimpanzee on the way to the moon
pushing all kinds of buttons, pulling all kinds of levers,
knowing all kinds of wires and all kinds of connections.

Technically speaking,
that chimpanzee first needed to translate all kinds of jargon
and then turn it into all kinds of brilliant action.

To him, he had to treat it like some kind of poetry.

That could be me. But,
I have no idea what that poor chimpanzee had to go through.
Technically speaking, I’m a baboon.


Joe Bisicchia writes of our shared dynamic. An Honorable Mention recipient for the Fernando Rielo XXXII World Prize for Mystical Poetry, his works have appeared in numerous publications. His website is