It might be a wee bit quicker
To sweetly write a joke disentangled
From poetic sugar coated inter-mixture.
I am a sick dingo, a chocoholic Fitzgerald.
Here we are now at punchline mangled:
I ate your baby, Ruth. (now snickers)
Krishna has eight majestic queens,
And sixteen thousand maiden concubines.
To each one his loving heart stays blue.
Envy not, for with tremendous pressure true,
Do his swollen pair of sapphires shine.
You'll laugh about this someday
Because, now the joke isn't funny
Because, the punchline is late.
And so is the rent.
In the future, today is the straight
Man shopping for a tent.
Today is the Abbot to your Costello.
You'll grow out of this someday, you short, fat fellow.
The end happened before I saw it,
Goin' by rail, light speed in transit.
Present slipped from axle and wheel.
Disintegrating diesel, smoke, steel.
Time passed fast, gauged by my outstretched mullet.
Ol' bloke's heart was smaller than a gnome's.
The maid, she was donned blue to the bone.
Yes, he did beat her to the meter.
You think he's a parking cheater?
The obloquy's gotta metronome.
The other guy who owned the pizza shop went berserk.Took a ball-peen to his hard-headed woman and went to work.
He and she, they disagreed on much,
All the toppings the topics of her torment touched.
It was explained to visitors in hushed tone and local lore: that's the reason we couldn't get pizza delivered for.
Time (but not enough time) passed.
Disgust gave way, our hunger 'massed.
And the hankering for a slice grew great,
So, to out-of-towners, we implored for new owners.
Again, the magic discs of melted cheese we ate.
But upon our bellies full, we still deflate, thinking again how that woman met her fate.
Shame comes back to visit on every plate.
Has its symbolic barrows.
The hot cheese of stigma stretches, never narrows.
I've lost something. Got coconut. No lime.When you don't have a full deck
Solitaire' a losing past-time.
There is a man at the train platform
With a friendly face.
I will say hello and act like I'm from outer space.
Hey, Merry Christmas!
Well, I guess that's a good response these days.
I'm from Minneapolis. Chicago's better.
Welcome. I'm not from here either, though.
Bet you're pretty warm in that sweater.
Uh huh. Cold. Isn't it?
I'm sure this is the same as Milwaukee, so it's no big deal.
Minneapolis. Pay attention, buddy. Ha ha!
Uh. No. Grrrizzzz.
Is that short for something?
Me man me need know
what you are where you go
Me I-I need some order
This river that border
The desert there you stay here
Me man me strong no fear
Lascaux women fusstrate me
Half wild stray from campfire
In future French film flings make men things
Stone age man need safe no desire
I built this flame from our hearts
Two rocks bang bang make dry twig flame
Joke on me from very spark
Now you no need me you lub Bawb* same.
*Stone Age version of "Bob", per prehistorian Jennifer Chadwick
I showed my son a cartoon
Which he inspected
He said it was pretty dumb
Not the laugh he expected.
I live with a lad who knows funny,
Who say inversions are too humpty.
I poke him in the ribs and sing:
"When the weather outside is frightful,
Body parts drop by the flight-full. . .
Dashing through the anthroscape.
In a bloodflake covered slay.
Mingle bones mingle bones mingle all the way!"
This, not one courtesy chuckle brings.
Uncomfortable pause. Silent Spring.
Signifiers lurk in the pattern
like rings around Saturn
Yes. Like spells cast around Saturn.
Three is a braid,
One is none. A single hand clapping unstayed,
Hold the applause, the swatting of air-
I'm not even done.
Will you know Saturn without its rings?
Can you spot the king without his crowns?
Are we able to free the people places things
From semiotic curses bound?
I saw the aftermath
something fell down
shape, line, and plane
sprawled on the ground
What is the meaning?
Did it ever make sense?
The year spent building,
The next year repeating,
Putting in time putting make
Up on the train
Asking for a raise
piecing together freedom...
Or Whatever it was.
It was a plywood shanty
It was a childhood hovel
The urge to live alone
Now it's done.
Is forced on
A rhyme plays
all the notes
that sound like
Milk in the gutter.
You tell me not to cry.
Things will get butter.
Aye, c'est tu mais toi:
you say tomato.
The off-key lover sure couldn't carry a tune
Even so, to her, he sang under the moon.
The beloved, she held his tunes quite dear,
For his howling was so dog-gone sincere.
Ecmnesia. There's a cure for that everybody says
Hold your breath, stand on your head,
Drink a glass of l'eau française.
Gaps of darkness, broken synapse,
Something miraculous and sublime.
The cheats, the liars, erased in the lapse.
Who like grudges? Why cure hiccups in time?
When the catalog for coffins was made
The adman insisted on manipulation
That's the day Reba was displayed
As the sexiest coffin model in the nation.
She laid in the whole Ozymandias casket line
And for the camera offered her visage divine
I won't make you roll your eyes by
Joking about her dead end job
But I will remark she made many
A fate-facing man's heart throb.
She pretends she's dead and happy
She struts her stuff on the catafalque baby
Reba, the underworld is at your feet
Reba, you make a man's dirt sled complete.
I finished writing last night. Good golly.
Upon review on this reddened dawn
At the kitchen table my paper lay upon
I discovered a man in a gray suit not quite jolly.
Old Sayn't Nietzsche let out a snidely yawn,
And pointing at my essay chuckled,
"Too many words! It's overfull, like dinner pants unbuckled."
I sat down as he without pause continued,
"What's more, you conclude by misquoting Daybreak."
My head hurt and I grabbed my scalp. Annoyed, I blurted,
"So what, you big Ubermensch? You self-refuting corn crake."
He hung his head and felt my feelings,
Our head hurt and we were grumpy,
"Should we move on from those past dealings?"
"As always.", we nodded, squinting in the present brightness, dumbly.
I can't believe my ears.
Imagine? John Lennon,
Mere signifier for tears.
Zat you, Death?
I can't be Saussure.