and over

the pass

there is a little brook

beside a grove

of mango trees

along with the transient

drifting smell

of buttercup rum

in the light breeze

of the early afternoon

the sky has been clothed

by the Great Painter

with streams of conscious white puffs

staring blissfully down at the rolling hills of grandeur

sitting alongside this waking dream of 

New Day

we sit near the brook

in a humble and happy valley

overlooking life

overlooking time

there is a book we’re writing

though neither one of us hath scribed 

but a breath 

and a picnic basket of memories

rain clouds ensue

yet we are elated 

for we know 

that we both will be each other’s galoshes

and rain jackets

i am training

to be the cactus

in your chair

wait, NEW REPORT JUST IN:

the never-ending block of cheese

has come alive

and is terrorizing all the mice

in the city!

tramps have started eating

all the twinkies

 AND

i just salted a man cold

for taking my dog’s water bowl

you silly fools

did you think i slept in school

i drank in school

got flanked in school

earned rank in school

for all the in-crowd

OUTCASTS

who outlast

the drought cabs

in a race

damn droolers

creating bigger puddles

for the poolers

me

on the rooftop

rebel flag in my hand

burning it

just to make a point

that to idolize anything

is to lose thyself

and to lack obsession

is sometimes

 the act

of

discipline.