Big Pete Says…
(Impersonating John F. Kennedy) Hello, I’m Big Pete. (canned applause). Because I am. (canned guffaws). Give me a feel, ladies and gentlemen. You give me a feeling and I want to share it. God’s heavy hand reaches earthwards and the deep and quiet waters rage upon the land. (canned chickens clucking. voice that shifts to that of Richard Nixon). Fingers of fog thicken. Mountains bristle. (back to Kennedy). Stars burn defiantly above, but we are asleep, compliant, dreaming of crotch. In the black marsh (Nixon again), frog upon frog upon frog (now Kennedy) objects, until God (Nixon now), nowhere to be seen (Kennedy), relents. (Big Pete hooks his right arm around his ass from behind and straining his right hand out and upwards to about penis-level grabs his balled left hand and shakes it vigourously). Inevitably— (canned rooster crowing. Nixons voice and mannerisms seize control: e.g. shoulders hunch, arms wave, jowls quiver like Jell-O, mouth breaks a Mona Lisa smile)… from out of a raddening vortex, day which besmears all. (canned work whistle). Spring mellows into summer, and this is spring. I’m basting in this tux, but what the hell, it’s what we all deserve. Touch me, ladies and gentlemen. What I’ve got you can’t contract, and it’s a big one.
Surprise awaits YOU in South Africa
Majorette Phalanx
For Lewis Carroll
surrealist in nonsense
As I sat contemplating
what goes on inside your heads,
my mind began to wander
through sheets of unmade beds,
Past the carousels of raisin blooms,
onward to the queen,
far beyond the velvet lace
where the nice men all are mean.
And on within a child’s last frown,
my thoughts did roam forlorn,
where ants did dream of being men
long before their sons were born.
Then further still the journey goes,
through painted glass and silk,
to swim refreshed as April snow
in a lake of mother’s milk.
To walk again, or run, or fly
past tables made of bread,
with chairs designed by walking sticks
with their faces painted red.
Beside a river of solid gold,
I stopped to rest awhile,
and chatted with a stranger
who wore a flowered smile.
She spoke of reasons not to speak,
and threw her hands up high,
then waddled off from whence she came,
and a tree began to cry.
Its sobs began first soft and low,
but soon began to wail.
Twas then I quickly realized
I was standing on its tail.
“Now gone again, be gone amI,”
I shouted as I fled,
not looking back at walking sticks,
nor tables made of bread.
But on past kittens purring,
and on past clouds of green,
up sides of mountains shivering,
through fields where rocks can sing.
As though a madman by logic pursued,
I ran as never before,
when there I saw a building
with a single open door.
Inside I ran as fast as could be
and darted up the stair.
In a lonely room at the end of the hall
was a single lonely chair.
“Quickly now, sit down,” said I,
“best not a moment delay,”
And upon reflection, I did vow,
“I’ll go again… another day.”
Memoirs of a Third World Cat #5
Masthead
Matrix Page #2
Definitely Twelve Relievers
Bob Dylan wrote this but I know he was wrong
It doesn’t take a genius to relinquish one’s baboon
When he’s been outside wreaking havoc ‘neath the unobstructed moon
Where’s that innocent bystander when you need him much too soon?
Oh, mama, can this really be the end?
To be struck upside the head?
Infinitely Snide Retrievers
How nakedly my coffee sits astride the cafe stool
I often stop to think of it while trying not to drool.
The waitress brings the Daily News, its headline still insists
That deep within the crowbar lurks a drill instructor’s school
The militants in Camden towne have lately been at play
Their casual cordovan loafers missed the target anyway
With lilting laughter, chromosomes torment the token clone
While silently in Kensington the sheik goes home alone.
