It is my good fortune
to live to an age
within an age
when I can indulge
my whimsical side
without too much damage
to the ones that love me—
sadly, as it must for everyone,
real work rears its horrible head
so for a while this daily grind
but Bread and Friday will increase
maybe more of it will be
I love you all
You didn’t see it on tv,
when the ghostly figure in his tattered shirt
took over the stage,
when all the pyrotechnics stopped,
when Beyonce and all the
wannabe Beyoncettes backed away
from the frail, creepy figure with the battered guitar
with the sign;
he strummed and sang in a raspy
voice and hardly anyone could hear
because they cut the mikes
not wanting to upset the megastars
and wannabe megastarrettes in the seats.
He apologized for his voice.
“Been dead a while, now,” he said,
“but think how loud you have to sing
to be heard from the grave.”
Springsteen and Havens and Seeger,
Taj Mahal and Dylan and Joan Baez
came out to play acoustic back-up,
to join in the chorus: Rich man took my home and drove me from my door And I ain’t got no home in this world anymore.
Nobody clapped and nobody sang along;
hardly anybody heard them at all
which made it just like always. My father’s own father he waded that river they took all the money he made in his life.
“Records fall every day,” he shouted
“409,846 immigrants deported last year;
liberal is just another mask for the same
fascist lizards we’ve ever had.”
The others tried to calm him down
and he shrugged them off.
“That’s the trouble with you people
you’re all cowards at the end of the day.”
He spit on the stage and walked away.
It isn’t known whether anyone in the stands paid attention.
The others did a rendition of this Land Is Your Land. This land was made for you and me, they sang
but it didn’t feel like they really meant it.
Then half time was over.
The Ravens ran back the kick-off for a touchdown.
Then the 49’ers got the ball.
By then the word came down to cut the power
and change reality again.
Everyone agreed Beyonce was amazing.
here is the thing about all the cameras
about all that cctv business
they say that now, right now
today in this USA we keep bragging about
that no matter where you are
if you are away from home
chances are you are on camera
here is the thing about all them drones
goverment is in love with the damned drones
love them sneaky, killing little bees
now they have microdrones
like matchbox versions to follow you around
and signal the big bangaroo drone
if you are up to too much
here’s the thing about guys
about a guy like you on camera
sooner or later you are going to get angry
and show it your dick
guys love to show their dicks to cameras
ask Brett Favre
it’s what we do
soon, with all these cameras and drones
guys will be showing their dicks everywhere, all the time
there will be chaos in the streets
now when the drones come
to clean up the trouble
they are only going to ace the guys
whose tallywhackers are big enough
for the drone sensors to register
meaning only guys with big johnsons
will get the business
the guys with the tiny peckers
will have the darwinian advantage
and four, my friend,
is a magic number
finally, i’ll be ready to make my move
“…about like this. If it sticks out no farther than the bill of your cap, you should be all right,” explained a man of legendarily Lilliputian gifts.
had the big skulls
and they ate all that meat—
smart buggers they were
because their arms were
so pathetic, hardly better
they screamed day and night in frustration
but it was all for nothing—
they left no permanent record
but their bones,
no Saurian Paradise Lost to bequeath
to the monkey things
those ugly, hairy jabberers
so much dumber than
the terrible lizard,
yet, blessed enough to reach for things
beyond their ability to control
Finally, the Super Bowl
is here and I can let my hair down—
Finally, Super Bowl technology
has advanced far enough that
I am guaranteed to be happy—
Finally, Super Bowl Scientists have taken us to
breathtaking new levels
with an eight layer dip—
I can look forward to hours of
entertainment from people
I never heard of, along with hours
of commentary I don’t listen to
and the clever, creative commercials
for products I will never buy—
I can watch a stirring rendition
of our national anthem followed
by our nation’s cheerleaders guiding us through
a pert-breasted moment of sadness
for all the past year’s tragedies.
(There may be some tears at this part.)
Then there’s that drama! Hoo boy!
A battle of brother against brother—
Not since the Civil War
has so much been at stake—
Watch as football great
Paul Hornung coaches his Bay Area Gay-Bashers
against brother Pinky Hornung’s awesome
No-Snitch Juicers from the merry land.
Actually, the game itself…well…
Don’t get me wrong. I like football.
But it does get in the way
of the grand festivities.
there is no dark
there are only opportunities to see differently
embrace your fear
know that in the entire universe
nothing is faster than the speed of light
and that all light, everywhere
uses that speed
to get to you
you are not alone
wherever you turn there is a hand
wherever you would walk
we will walk with you if you wish it
remember who we are
our promises are mighty
you will never be alone