T’was the night of seismics
that we all lucked out,
seeking entertainment
in the underground,
came upon a dark
spontaneous cabaret
even all the locals
had been mum about,
where we saw a small girl
with a broken leg
sing so eloquently
on her fishbowl life,
it was evident that
we had all been changed.
First we cried and laughed
and then we signed her cast.
Kind castles create bland rulers.
The harsh flag scoffs at victory.
Prepare to die by poison ideas.
The armor of the future is speed.
Pure evil is the fulcrum of doubt.
Get over it: forget the Alamo.
Loose troops sink ships’ shapes.
Bomb patterns make lovely quilts.
A nation of spies has much in common.
Death works well as a diversion.
Peace is the luxury of also rans.
When the blood market wanes, open veins.
The only good gun is a used one.
Defeat is the posture of disease.
Pebbles married Pogo and upgraded to a swamp.
Scooby Doo and Snoopy had a wedding with much pomp.
Daisy Duck wed Road Runner; it happened much too fast.
Sluggo married Orphan Annie; it’ll never last.
Dennis hitched with Lucy and got into S&M.
Elroy Jetson/ Little Lulu; hey, good luck to them.
Archie did choose Betty, left Veronica in tears.
Dilbert married Mary Worth; he’d had too many beers.
Dora the Explorer ran away with Richie Rich.
Underdog at last made Pretty Polly his true bitch.
Steve Canyon finally came to earth, eloped with Brenda Starr.
Daffy Duck, en route to chapel, got hit by a car.
Tinker Bell (this hurts like hell) wed crazed Woody Woodpecker.
Betty Boop and Alley Oop bought their first double decker.
Sure, there’s guys who’ll never marry, just to name a few:
Bluto, Beetle Bailey, Goofy, Hulk, Mister Magoo.
And many a cartoon woman will stay an old maid,
sure the Jugheads of their world simply don’t make the grade.
Some nights, I just want to drink some Drano.
The world feels like one massive backed-up sink.
I wonder if I have gone insane, oh,
what’s the use is often what I think.
But alas, some intricate reflection
will convey life’s beauty to my head.
After a bit of introspection,
I realize it’s no help being dead.
There are things to do to make life better,
even if it’s on a minute scale.
When the world around us is on fire,
everyone needs to pick up a pail.
Safety is, indeed, the seed of numbers.
Sanity will often tip the scales.
History says when the power slumbers
truth can knock their carriage off the rails.
And so, tonight, I’ll go out draining,
but not in a self destructive way.
Evil at the moment might be reigning.
But, like always, they will have their day.
Nodding to computer radio,
light years from the a.m. of my youth.
Cousin Brucie fell, alas, to eight tracks.
Vinyl beware of cassettes, forsooth.
Reel to reel’s dying protests were tragic.
CD’s were the new audio rage.
Quality of sound touted as magic;
this was dawning of new airwaves’ age.
There have been a hundred more perfections,
touted in the press and magazines.
On the other side there are defections,
rejecting these shallow hipster scenes.
In the end it all goes back to vinyl,
despite imperfections in the grooves.
Something in the turning seemed so final.
As if music sensed our final moves.