Celebrity troubles & Robot blood

(co-written with Elder Wombat)

Celebrity troubles & Robot blood
Late night rambling as you walk down the path;

Confetti debris from the parade last week..
Illusions humbled themselves in the belly of our hero.

Familiar melons, twists & turns, then the tunnel;
The light came on, I was bracing and embracing.

The steam whistle and crooked smokestack of the old locomotive coming down the tracks
spoke to me in a voice at once familiar and odd,
convinced me to step aside and save my life.

I turned, walked up the hill, and air smelled cool and bright..
as dark engines below rolled on & passed me by.

In eves when the story shifted and a song sprouted like soft grass underfoot
I strummed the chords struck once that long lost dawn,
Skeletons, in harmony, sing “Move along”.

(6/16-7/18/2017 – North Road, Blue Mounds, Wisconsin & Adams Point, Oakland, California)

Jokes Don’t Play Fair & Shackles Give Way

(co-written by Elder Wombat)

The mangy masters
hold forth bears,
haven’t inside jokes,

though someone trusted
has seen dancing
among highly strange folks

Mr. Oso Humor,
waltzing in a fur-lined suit & tie.

Winks at the masters,
no reply,
black cat on the left, blue cat on the right.

Tails mop the floor
just like mirth
at the birth
of time.

Married to the dirt
as they were
Earth gave worth
by grime.

Ground tremors, air thrums:
Whoosh, boom thrush.
Hushed hail, age &
a place of mind.

All of a sudden
bears’ shackles rust,
strange folks swallowed
by dust’s design.

Fertile void crops up,
menace-playful, divine.
Laughter spreads out to
open hearts & blinds.

[the mangy masters
missed the punchline,
the bears dive down into the void,
out of sight.

As for Mr. Oso Humor,
he stayed above & behind
to meet the masters

If this were a story,
there’d be an end
but jokes don’t play fair &
shackles give way, my friend.

(5/29-31/2017 – North Road, Blue Mounds, Wisconsin & Adams Point, Oakland, California)


(co-written by Elder Wombat)

Now, what’s that on the water?
Something’s underway.
If you knew what I know
you’d have nothing to say.

The rivers roll on
and the surface ripples.
Waves crest and fall,
tiller rides with purpose, simple:

We sail straight for the belly
of the saber sea tooth cat.
It’s time to cross the wind, mates.
Hold onto your hats.

So loose up and find a balance.
Beasts smile across the islands.
How does the breeze whistle news?
Blimey, feels good all the way from the shoes.

(5/9-11/2017 – North Road, Blue Mounds, Wisconsin & Adams Point, Oakland, California)