the coins in my hat
jangle relentlessly
while your skirt
has consummated
a daily slip
i wonder if getting away
is all that it’s cracked up to be
or is there an organ grinder
around the next block
loosing monkeys on the unsuspecting?
the interpreter says,
‘sergeant suspecting works this block.
i suggest you trail away,
fade into the last century’.
yes. my last stay in hell was delightful
with lesbians and marshmallows
they sang to me,
“for she’s a jolly good fellow”.
the world
spins haphazardly
while i
slip
on my
tongue.
sometimes
it mocks
my
every attempt
to
reasoned
execution.
my dear, you are a spinikin
who spins men for dresses.
you were the late and great
barbiel bibler. remember her?”
