Wicket eyes in cardinal sauce.
Rum furry flakes.
Slapdash panache.
Spicy species.
Involuntary continental mousse.
Anise abuse.
Dribbled backwards conks.
Lubricated moss.
Dendrites on buffalo snatches.
Percolated flack dabble.
Umpteen fruity quads.
Redondo quill flyers.
Potent eight.
Relinquished spartans.
Prehensile mouthwielders.
Instant pelican scones.
Platter pushpins.
Necromantic neuron burgers.
I pick up things
from off the street and sell ’em.
Whenever words
come to my head, I yell ’em.
They call me Hubcap Bub
because I’ve got a big collection.
Folks can stop on by my shack
and make their own selection.
I sell all but the shiny ones
for just a buck or two.
If you’re in need I also have
the odd glove, sock or shoe.
I make up songs and lullabies,
but don’t know how to write.
You bring your sleepless kid to me
and I’ll sing him goodnight.
With all the stuff accumulated
here within my brain,
I often think it quite unfair
that some call me insane.
I awoke at two a.m., my reading light still on,
a book about the chupacabra of Boca Raton
lay open on my chest; I was a fan of science fiction,
the monsters of the southern hemisphere my new addiction.
‘Twas then I heard a growling sound from underneath the bed.
The creature from the pages had now crawled inside my head.
I closed the book. I killed the lamp and gave in to the night.
When morning came, I did not wake. They said I died of fright.
I can’t get a laugh out at the funny farm.
The cows love satire, but find it
ironic not to show it. (Cud-ups!)
The deadly ducks quack up at nothing.
Mules may bray, but only as harassment.
And then there is the neighing of the steeds.
I’d rather work the sad cafe and die of soul
attrition than founder in the flop and slop
of life within these fences.
Two bodies of life lined up on a couch
begin to slouch and generally disintegrate.
The dog eats their dust and turns into rust,
he’s thrown in a car but no one gets the license plate.
The cops get a call, there’s bones in the hall,
the pattern leads to obvious conclusions.
A couple grows up, drinks from the same cup,
and dies the slow death bled by love’s delusions.