The sheep was out of bounds.
Horses, hookers and dolls were o.k.
But everybody hits rock bottom.
Next morn it’s up and climbing.
Every day thereafter is a mountain.
Praying for a foothold.
Cactus is your only friend.
And at the apex, what awaits you
but a downhill slide over scree,
shale, thorn, bark and bother.
Another fall, another winter.
A drop in the bucket of slop
that seems to be the destiny of man.
Pooh, pooh, Putin.
He’s got our poor POTUS scootin’
Pooh, pooh, Putin.
Our election he’s rebootin’.
Republicans are now his dupes.
He’s got ’em jumping through his hoops.
The money that’s been changin’ hands
could fund twelve heavy metal bands.
Pooh, pooh, Putin.
His horn our president is tootin’.
Pooh, pooh, Putin.
Our treasury he’s surely lootin’.
We’ve promised him a sanctions lift.
Consider it an orange gift.
He’ll open up new lines for oils.
And we will divvy up the spoils.
Pooh, pooh, Putin.
Our groper prez his horn is tootin’.
Pooh, pooh, Putin.
He says that sharin’ sure beats shootin’.
The future’s world wide autocrats.
On this doomed ship we are the rats.
Republicans are gross and stinkin’.
Stop them now before the sinkin’.
Pooh, pooh, Putin.
For his downfall we are rootin’.
Pooh, pooh, Putin.
We’re allergic and he’s gluten.
Trapped inside, like water.
Outside, chain link and barbed wire.
Concrete mesa and rock ledge.
Broken glass and bottles thrown
from on high. A wave of pulsing oil.
Here comes a train again.
Lost dogs, guard dogs, devil dogs.
Red-eyed and hungry.
Screamed languages unheard,
almost as in song.
Forever chased to dead ends.
Rumors of a river downhill.
If only just one door to knock upon.
Long ago there were friendly faces.
In the times before the glass pipe.
He wandered into a fantasy of the prairie,
a silver spoon child with such a cute scowl.
He was going to be a cowboy, a spaceman,
a pirate. Pirate was in his genes.
He won all the Monopoly games because
his crying and tantrums made other options
much too painful for the players involved.
He said, "Big blocks good." He loved adjectives.
He would mumble, "Pretty, pretty," as he
stroked the skin of thin young women.
He had trouble reading and cheated at math.
He had no friends and he scared his enemies.
He bullied and lied his way into power.
His handlers claimed his tantrums
made him more interesting and ‘real.’
He pulled many strings and broke promises.
And yet his hangers-on hung on.
He was orange. He was red. He was fuzzy.
He was a muppet in wolf’s clothing.
Develop your dexterity
in practice of sincerity.
Achieve internal parity.
Such balance is a rarity.
Resolve the mind’s distortion.
Remove outside extortion.
Learn how to reapportion.
Become one with Frank Gorshin.