Faerie Tale

Once upon a time there was a once upon a time &
Once upon a time there was no once upon a time &
the faeries and dragons were called to sort out
whether innocence, ignorance or the check-out line
at mega-mega-super-mart
was better for our species.

The faeries sent out hardy scouts
but the dragons found them out.
The faeries held their scabbards high &
dragons spat into the sky and wondered where the swords were.

All banged and thrashed and fought it out
a boom, a crash, a flail, a clout,
till all the faeries climbed aboard
the dragons' backs and sank their swords.

Once upon a time there was time&
Once upon a time there was no time &
all gave a shout, the fires went out
but the dragons then turned inside out!
And all who'd dared upon their backs to ride
found themselves trussed up inside!
The clash was over, the heavens quieted,
no faeries left to be beknighted,
no dragons either to share their fire,
dreadfully punctured, they soon expired.

Once there was time &
Once there was no time&
ignorance? innocence? or the check-out line?

BOOMBA

Boomba, Boomba, Boomba, Momma's cookin' gumba.

Boomba, Boomba, Boomba, Daddy's cuttin' lumbah.

Boomba, Boomba, Boomba, God has got your numbah.

Or, when I learned to stop making sense:

Strawberry fields forever and Lucy's in the Sky with Diamonds,

I've been through the desert on a horse with no name and there

ain't nobody for to give me no pain,

Breakin' up is ha . a . ard to do,

breaking up the rigid bonds of linguistics,

cut the tongue's tether to logic's floor.

They used to de-tongue people, women mostly,

grab the slippery wonder with their tongs

tongs to tongue, tongs win! tongs:107, tongues:0

stretch it taut and cut it off.

Oh Daddy, please tell me that's a lie,

people never did really do that to people, did they?

That and worse little girl.

Boomba, Boomba, Boomba, Momma wants to mumba.

Boomba, Boomba, Boomba, Daddy wants to rumba.

Boomba, Boomba, Boomba, God's still got your numbah.

OK, send in the clowns, there has to be clowns.

I've looked at clowns from both sides now

and yes it was me, left the cake out in the rain

500 miles from home, takin' the A-train, but

I'd still walk a million miles for one of those smiles.

I read the news today, oh boy

Man who abducted local woman gets 3 life terms, oh boy.

He said in his defense, "raping and threatening to murder

were but a small part of his Christian lifestyle."

And she told how Sparks police didn't believe her story

and to this day have refused to apologize though they paid

her $25,000 to not take them to court.

And the Fallon leukemia probe continues . . .and perhaps . . .it is

suggested . . .an independent monitor of the JET FUEL PIPE LINE

that runs through the area MIGHT be in order . . .

'tis thought.

and whyever whoever was stupid enough to run jet fuel

cross-country through pipes is beyond my logical comprehension

when if they'd asked me I'd've voted for fresh-squeezed

orange juice to be delivered directly from Fla to any

spigot in any house anywhere, or Gravenstein apple

juice from Sebastopol Ca, beer from Milwaukee, milk

from Wisconsin! you get my drift.

But the powers-that-be voted for JET FUEL!

and I was not consulted.

And plans are still a 'go' for 77,000 and growing daily tons of

radioactive 'stuff' to be buried in YUCK!-A mountain,

I don't care what the paper says, it's damn the

leukemia, full-speed ahead Warp 9, Scotty, Spocky,

Cap'n Kirky Ahab

Cookie, Cookie lend me your comb!

Boomba, Boomba, Boomba,

the waste IS going to Yucca.

Boomba, Boomba, Boomba,

the kids WILL get leukemia.

Boomba, Boomba, Boomba,

Life is gonna kill ya!

YEAH!

So who gives a snot about a pipeline full of jet fuel through your living room, ya wimp!

Whaddya some kind of commie, pinko, anti-energy pervert?

to be continued . . . .

MY SCRIPT , , , ,SURE

Whose idea was it?
to ink a surface into meaning?
transfer ideas mind to mind this way?
Whose idea was it?
Some stark-raving mad angel left me here to make up strings of
thought like macaroni make a bucket
everything keeps seeping out, slipping through
no matter how I
tie to try, try to tie, tie to tie, try to try.
Still.
Be still.
And still
be.
Does the lily think itself the scented triumph of it's
re-generation?
Where is the impatiens' brain that imagined itself
into being and where the hands that colored itself into
flower?
Still.
Be still.
And be.
Still.
Finding myself somewhere between passion and action,
I.