And the Soft Wind Blows Now Available on Amazon UK (And US)!

Hello, Blog Readers!  My book (And the Soft Wind Blows) is now available for purchase in the UK (and still in the US)!  You can follow this link here: http://lanceumenhofer.com/buy-the-book.html to order it!  ($7.99 US; €5.19 UK)!  Happy July reading!   -Lance


Cirque Du Insane

When will this circus end?
Carnival tents
Clowns laughing, clapping
Carrying on
With their hands
Hankering balloons
Mistaken smiles
Of happy joy-joy
Love boat ride for everybody
Give the children a toy, boy
When will this circus end?


Maybe I do deserve
ass on the grass
face to the sun
eyes to the skies
mind clear and absurd. 
head to the left
shaking a yes
teeth shining brightly
at my betrothed. 
legs as Indians
we sound like comedians 
birds accordions 
hearts always flow. 

Maybe you do deserve
a class act developing
personality enveloping
aching and trembling
heart always sure. 
a man on a fence post 
waiting for letters
handshakes through sweaters
never one to boast,
always throw in a toast. 
baking in the sun
going out on dry runs 
mailbox of feathers
heart always known. 

I guess we all do,
deep-deep down
painting a fence
ready to dance
waiting for someone 
to be called You.


We've got cisterns
full of somethingless waste.
They bring black flowers
to white nights
on Broadway and East Fifth.
I live with them
in rundown mountains,
dying casinos,
roofless bars,
and fallen homes.
If you've seen them sitting
there, smiling, talking, laughing
with their beards and beers,
you've seen them falling
down into
empty streets
with whores, wretches,
junkies, and the like.
Always one step away
from dying too young
with nothing to say.
Always one sip away
from Nothingtown Oblivion--
Can't they find another way?
I watch them
as they whore themselves
so selfishly away
to all women with big smiles,
and countless adulteries
they're back to that same place
with those same eyes
and leading on
to a night
of hollowed out


In solitude
we wait for light to emanate through us like silver leaves falling down
into empty depths full of new hope,
thoughts, curdling always from the blackest of blacks––
blackness night voids

We sit in our dilapidated boats, fishing in the streams,
our lines in the water curling and
circling around,
our minds receptive, casting nets into
nothingness black voids

We realize ourselves in these brittle moments of nonthoughts—
hunting with our neuronconnecting rifles:
the little rabbits, the little fish
in black oceans and black fields––
black nothingnight voids

Something Hardly Cleaned (Nonsensical Shit)

I’ve determined––
I need at least
one disgusting thing
in the place I live

––Something hardly cleaned,
To remind me how old I am––

Right now, it’s my ashtray:

After the butts had piled up
to where, again,
no more would fit,
I emptied it out,
tapping the trash can lip,
and placed it

But now
that it’s rid
of all those
horrible, disgusting
the bottom
lies thick
in wet tobacco
mixed with rain,
looking like sewer scum,

––nonsensical shit––

my stomach curls in.

Firecracker Eyes, Live On

There’s something unsettling
                                                with the state
of the world:

                                                Firecracker eyes,
                                                live on.

They watch
          as their tears
feed cancer:

                                                Raindrops on a
                                                Sunday afternoon.

Their sparks,

                                                Sick feelings,
                                                       Be wise,
                                                My truth.

                                                I comprehend you,
                                                I deliver you.

I shiver from you too.

                                                Sunshine Hotline,
                                                I call,
                                                I do.

Those are some mistakes,
They really are,
It’s true.

Forgive me not,
It’s fine;
It’s you.

                                                I lie cold in your breast,
                                                Find fault in your step,
                                                Feel home in your caress,

I bleed fountains of youth.